


Ten Thousand Things

by mataglap



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-04-18 12:59:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14213694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mataglap/pseuds/mataglap
Summary: A collection of small, standalone McHanzo stories from tumblr.Each chapter will have its own rating and tags where needed. The overall rating might also change, depending on the prompts answered.





	1. Cuddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from [robo-cryptid](https://robo-cryptid.tumblr.com): Cuddling.
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Tags: Fluff

The hotel room is impeccably clean and smells of air freshener, and the little device in McCree's pocket vibrates nearly immediately after he crosses the threshold.

Well, at least the mission's definitely a go. He keeps the arm around Hanzo's shoulders until the door closes behind them, and squeezes his bicep meaningfully before letting go. Hanzo doesn't bat an eyelid, of course, just beelines for the bathroom without a word; McCree drops the luggage on the floor, eyes the king bed with an internal sigh, then tosses the hat onto the pillow closer to the door.

After a moment, his phone beeps with a message.

**23:21 Hanzo**

no cameras in the bathroom so far

how many in the room?

McCree sits on the bed and bounces, as if testing the mattress. Pulls away the curtain and looks through the window. Checks the contents of the minibar. Drags a finger across the shelf of the wardrobe. Drops back on the bed, lazily types a message.

 **>** Found two. Holoset and the curtain rail or thereabouts

Hanzo emerges from the bathroom and smiles warmly when their eyes meet. McCree's still trying to get used to it. The knowledge that the smile is for the surveillance only sours the experience somewhat, but hell, at least it'll make for a nice memory when the mission is over. It takes him a shameful second before he remembers he's supposed to return the smile.

Hanzo juts his chin in the direction of the bathroom door. "Go wash, love. It's been a long day, we should go to sleep."

For the hundredth time this mission, McCree resolves to piss in Winston's peanut butter when they're back on base. A few drops in _every single jar_. Or maybe he could find a tasteless laxative—

Hanzo stands next to the bed, looking at him fondly, and goddammit, this is just _unfair_. "Shoo," he says, still with that smile, and extends a hand; McCree has no choice but to take it, get pulled up, and be gently, but decisively directed towards the bathroom door.

"Hold your horses, sweetheart," he protests with a faint grin; at least he’s been getting a kick out of calling Hanzo pet names all day and getting away with it. "Let me dig up the toiletries first."

"We have a lot of sightseeing to do tomorrow." Hanzo opens his suitcase as well, transferring neatly folded clothes into a drawer. "I _will_ wake you up at eight, no matter how much you complain. I'll be ruthless," he adds, still with that undercurrent of fake fondness which is probably not even necessary, the cameras are most likely limited to video feed only — but of course they can't risk that assumption. Hanzo's a professional. It's not his fault that McCree's got a crush, or that Winston in his infinite wisdom decided they should go undercover as a couple.

"Alright, alright, I'm goin'," he grouses good-naturedly and retreats to the bathroom, where he can at least drop the smile, put his forehead against the cool tiles for a while, and steel himself for a night of sharing a bed with the man he has pined for for the better part of a year.

* * *

On his turn, Hanzo takes forever in the bathroom, and by the time he's done, McCree's progressed from nervous through resigned to half asleep. It really has been a long day, most of it spent traveling in the role of Hanzo's lover and tiresome as all hell, and it's nice to just close his eyes and relax in a comfortable bed without having to pretend anything. As much as he can relax while being watched by the Talon-affiliated business that apparently runs this joint, anyway.

The mattress is so fantastically soft and wide that he barely even notices when Hanzo slips into the bed. He does, however, notice when Hanzo scoots across the empty space and plasters himself to his side.

For a long moment he's stiff as a board, before he remembers that Hanzo is a damn good actor and an even better agent. They're supposed to be lovers; of course it would look weird if they slept so far apart.

Although, Hanzo sure is going the extra mile with this.

He swallows, carefully frees the left arm and extends it in a silent invitation, and holds his breath when Hanzo immediately worms even closer. There's a dark head tucked under McCree's chin now, smelling faintly of the hotel's verbena shampoo, and a tattooed arm wrapped around his waist. He doesn't dare to move, barely dares to breathe, just in case it disturbs Hanzo and shatters the spell — but Hanzo throws his leg across McCree's, wriggles a bit to get comfortable and hums contentedly into his threadbare night t-shirt, and McCree can only hope that the cameras can't see his expression because it's probably far too shocked to look natural.

He only realizes how tense Hanzo has been when he feels him slowly relax against his chest, in small, halting increments, like he's not sure he's allowed. _Fuck it_ , he thinks, lightly places a hand on the hot skin of Hanzo's shoulder blade and soothingly strokes his naked back. There's an exhalation against his pectoral that he can feel through the fabric and Hanzo relaxes completely: a miraculous, warm, verbena-scented weight in his arms.

McCree swallows and keeps stroking, and when Hanzo's arm tightens around his waist, he goes for broke and presses a light kiss to the crown of his head.

There's a moment of silent hesitation before Hanzo lets out a barely audible sigh and rubs his cheek against McCree's chest, like a cat, once, twice, before snuggling as close as physically possible and falling quiet and motionless again.

McCree stares unseeingly at the dark ceiling and smiles like the lovestruck idiot he is. It's definitely not for show now, no matter how good the cameras are. This is real, and for McCree only. They will probably have to talk about it at some point, but for now, words aren't needed. By some miracle, he's got Hanzo, peaceful and heavy with sleep, in his arms and no one can take it away from him.


	2. First Kiss / Drunken Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from [BloomingCnidarians](https://bloomingcnidarians.tumblr.com/): A drunken kiss
> 
> Prompt from [cyberpunkdreamland](https://cyberpunkdreamland.tumblr.com/): A drunken kiss/First kiss
> 
> Rating: T

The car on the screen explodes. There are many cheers and a few groans; McCree obediently takes a sip of his way too potent screwdriver and shudders a little bit. The tip of his nose is going numb already, and they're probably not even halfway through the movie. He can't even check the time because the sofa he's been sitting on had already been packed tight even before Lúcio decided to squeeze in, and now he's smushed between the armrest and Hanzo's muscular bulk, and about the only part of him that can still move is the right hand holding the glass.

In fact, Hanzo's so close that it doesn't qualify as cuddling only because McCree's left arm is trapped between their bodies. If he turned his head, he could probably count Hanzo's eyelashes.

They are so thick and dark it kinda looks like he's wearing mascara. Maybe he is? McCree squints and tries to figure it out. They don't _look_ painted. Not that he's got a lot of experience in the matter, but he's aware that there should be little clumps of the stuff if they were. Maybe. Unless Hanzo's too good for clumps. Clumps are probably below him.

Hanzo glances at him out of the corner of his eye, startles a little, and does a double take.

Huh. Their faces are so close now, he can smell Hanzo's orange-and-vodka scented exhale.

Hanzo's nose is nice too, he concludes. All distinguished-like, even with the piercing. And his mouth is nice. His lips look a bit dry and they fall slightly open under McCree's scrutiny.

Uh. That's — that's actually kinda hot.

McCree swallows and watches Hanzo's eyes flicker up-down, up-down — yeah, these lashes are probably just real. Not sticking together or anything.

It's really damn hot in here, especially next to Hanzo who's radiating warmth like a space heater. Probably all that muscle. And the booze, too. 

Somehow they're almost cheek to cheek now. He's not sure who's leaning towards who. It's like Hanzo's got a built-in magnet or something. McCree's left arm is still trapped, maybe that's why he's having trouble sitting straight. Good thing it's prosthetic, or it'd be as numb as — well, most of his body at this point.

Hanzo's tongue darts out to wet his lips. Why are his lips dry when he's been drinking? They've all been drinking, like, a lot. An awful lot. In hindsight, that's probably why McCree can't move.

If he turned his head all the way left he'd —

— yeah. He'd be nose to nose with Hanzo. He goes cross-eyed trying to focus on Hanzo's mouth, to see if it's still doing weirdly hot things.

The magnetic pull drags McCree in, inescapable. Hanzo's breathing fast and shallow. They're so close that he feels each little puff of air on his skin. He wonders if could be getting more drunk on the boozy vapors Hanzo's exhaling. He can't keep his eyes open; his entire body is numb, now, except for his left shoulder where he's pressed against Hanzo and the mouth.

Oh. The mouth. That's where all his feeling went.

Hanzo's lips aren't that dry after all. They do kinda catch against McCree's, but only a little. It's — good. McCree's very okay with how it feels. The noses get in the way, so he tilts his head slightly and tries again, and that's even better. Hanzo does the strangely hot tongue thing, only this time the tip of his tongue flickers against McCree's lip, not his own, and it pulls sharply on the tight knot in McCree's stomach.

Hanzo makes a quiet noise that sounds like a surprised "huh". It's a good noise. All of this is good, and hot, and definitely not dry anymore. Hanzo's mouth is soft and warm and his tongue fits against McCree's like — like something that was always meant to be there. It's hard to think of metaphors when Hanzo's licking into his mouth like he owns it.

Maybe he does. This is now, hands down, the best thing McCree's ever used his mouth for.

Something explodes again, very loudly, and there are more cheers. Oh yeah, the movie. They're supposed to drink now. Seems like they've both silently agreed to ignore it.

The others don't skip their turns, though, and someone jostles Hanzo enough that their teeth clash unpleasantly.

"Ow," McCree breathes, opening his eyes.

Hanzo stares at him, flushed, mouth red and slightly open and wet. McCree can't fight the magnet; he leans in again. He nearly falls through the gap and into Zarya, instead, because Hanzo got up and is now standing in front of the sofa.

"I think I've had enough," he says. There's a group of superheroes doing heroic things on the screen behind him. McCree's mouth suddenly tastes bitter; he instantly misses the sweetness of Hanzo's tongue. A few people mock Hanzo for giving up first. Doesn't make sense: Hanzo's no lightweight, he could outdrink half this room without breaking a sweat. Maybe he just wants away from McCree.

He looks up at Hanzo mournfully. Hanzo takes a step to the side, but doesn't actually walk away; he just stands there and stares at McCree, meaningful, like he's waiting for something. McCree blinks at him, and when Hanzo rolls his eyes, raises his eyebrows and pointedly glances at the door, the penny finally drops.

The eureka must have shown on his face, because Hanzo bites his lip, trying to hide a smile, and walks out of the room. McCree jumps out of the seat like he's been burned, catches his glass at the last moment, deposits it blindly on the first horizontal surface and deaf to the laughing and catcalls, without bothering to say anything, rushes towards the closing door.

  
[ ](http://bloomingcnidarians.tumblr.com/post/172891691088/mataglapi-mean-i-literally-just-wrote-one-in)

Fanart by [BloomingCnidarians](https://bloomingcnidarians.tumblr.com)!

 


	3. A Shy Kiss / Accidentally Sleeping in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompt: A Shy Kiss / Accidentally Sleeping In
> 
> Rating: M

McCree wakes up face down in an unfamiliar pillow, with his nostrils full of a vaguely familiar scent.

He tenses up, cataloguing inputs. Pillow: not his. Scent: tantalizing. Sound: a running shower, distinctly not his own either, the water pattern is all wrong. Headache: about six out of ten on the 'kill me' scale. Mouth: like an open grave.

He gingerly tries to move, and turns out it's not only his head that's sore. Now _this_ is a very different kind of ache, and one that McCree has not experienced in a very long time. What the…

Shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shitshit _fuck_.

McCree pushes his face deep into Hanzo's pillow and shudders through the memory of mouths and hands and skin and _heat_. Hanzo's weight pressing him down, Hanzo's voice filling his ears, Hanzo's teeth on his skin, his own desperate, muffled moans —

They weren't even drunk enough to blame it entirely on the alcohol. At least he wasn't, but he distinctly remembers the laser-focused, fiery look in Hanzo's eyes when he dropped to his knees in front of McCree, right there in the corridor, barely two corners away from the rec room — it's a memory that will remain burned into McCree's brain for the rest of his life — and he's pretty sure Hanzo was perfectly aware of what he was doing.

McCree's been lusting after Hanzo for as long as he can remember, but Hanzo…? Hanzo the unapproachable, stern ninja who's been shooting down McCree's attempts to flirt for about as long?

He raises his head carefully and looks around. The first thing he notices is the old-fashioned digital alarm clock on the nightstand. The clock reads 10:17, and he blinks at it with complete incomprehension for a long while. He hasn't slept past 8am for the last… however many years.

What the hell did Genji put into that screwdriver?!

He's still blinking at the clock when the shower cuts off, and it takes all of his willpower not to hold his breath while he looks at the bathroom door. He's in Hanzo's bed, hungover, fucked out and more than a little aroused by the memories alone, and he's got absolutely no idea what's going to happen now.

For all he knows, Hanzo could shoot him next.

Hanzo walks out of the bathroom naked and holding a glass of water, freezes for a split second when he sees McCree's wide-eyed stare, then, inexplicably, makes an aborted attempt to cover himself with the glass. Some of the water splashes on his abs. McCree damn near goes crosseyed from the effort it takes him not to laugh hysterically at the sight and Hanzo's expression.

"You should drink this." Hanzo unfreezes, schools his features back into something resembling calmness, takes a step towards the night table and hesitates; McCree can pinpoint the exact moment he realizes that the move would put his junk right in front of McCree's face. He takes mercy and closes his eyes, biting his lip because the sight he just denied himself was inspirational to the highest degree, and opens them only after he hears the clunk of the glass and, after a moment, the sound of a drawer being opened somewhere behind the bed.

He levers himself upright. The lukewarm tap water tastes like ambrosia.

"There's a towel for you in the bathroom, and a spare toothbrush head on top of it," says Hanzo offhandedly. He's still somewhere out of sight, so McCree takes the hint and maneuvers himself out of bed in a way that keeps his unrelenting erection obscured from Hanzo's view, and walks to the bathroom with as much dignity as he can muster.

There's a giant, obvious bite mark at the junction between his neck and his right shoulder. McCree remembers the moment he got it. Vividly. So vividly that he has to close his eyes, take a deep breath, and spend a mortifyingly long amount of time relieving himself before he can duck into the shower. The dilemma of whether to jerk off in Hanzo's bathroom with its owner right outside the door has him frozen in indecision for far too long, until his brain helpfully produces the images from last night and, yeah, McCree tries to be a decent person, but some things just aren't meant for a man to endure.

He leaves the bathroom with the too-small towel knotted around his waist and unable to meet Hanzo's eyes. His clothes have been gathered from the floor and laid out in a heap on the bed, and Hanzo's slumped in a chair at the desk, legs outstretched, busy with something on his phone. Giving McCree an illusion of privacy.

"I put your underwear in the laundry," he says without looking up. "It was… unusable."

McCree briefly prays to the heavens that his dick doesn't get any more ideas while he's forced to go commando. "Thanks," he replies, and finally braves a closer look at Hanzo after he's not bare-ass naked anymore.

Hanzo's _smiling_. Just a little, but the corners of his mouth are curled up and his eyes are crinkling, and he's still pretending to look at his phone, but damningly, the screen is black.

"You peeked," McCree says, mock-scandalized. Hanzo chews his lip briefly, trying to contain the smile before looking up.

McCree swallows. He's not sure what happens now. He's not sure what he's allowed to do. But Hanzo's eyes are still smiling and the perpetual wrinkle between his eyebrows is all but gone, and he looks almost approachable, so McCree walks forward until he's standing in front of Hanzo's chair, above his outstretched legs.

"Hey," he says stupidly.

Hanzo puts down the phone and stands up. His eyelashes are still gorgeous, like everything else about him, really. McCree wants to kiss him again. He's not one hundred percent sure it won't get him stabbed.

"Hello," Hanzo replies, and he doesn't sound sure either. His smile gradually disappears. McCree wants it back, and it kinda feels like they're both waiting for the other to do something, and he's always been the dumb one that shot first, asked questions later, so he suppresses his brain's sudden screech of panic and very slowly leans in.

He doesn't get stabbed or punched or shot. His lips brush Hanzo's, and Hanzo exhales quietly and returns the kiss, careful as if he's touching spun glass. Neither of them moves, really, they just stand there, McCree leaning down, Hanzo stretching up to meet him, the touches of lips so delicate and barely-there that McCree's afraid to breathe in case it shatters the silence.

It takes concentrated force of will to open his eyes after Hanzo pulls away, but he's rewarded for the bravery with a smile that is wide, brilliant and _joyful_.

"I'll bring you your underwear in the evening," Hanzo says, beaming. "Breakfast?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me an _unbelievable_ amount of time to figure out a situation in which these two would do anything that could even REMOTELY resemble shyness. As a result, it’s a very, very stretched interpretation of both prompts, and also a continuation of the previous prompt because why not.


	4. Never Have I Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompt: "A game of 'never have I ever' goes horribly wrong."
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Additional Tags: Reaper76

D.Va comes up with the idea, deep in the throes of withdrawal syndrome resulting from the Watchpoint's internet outage, and the game starts innocent enough.

"I've never played this game before," says Mei nervously, hiding behind her murloc mug like a shield. "I don't really know what to do."

"It's super easy." D.Va's eyes already gleam with competitive passion McCree's tempted to describe as unholy. "You think of something the others must have done that you've never done yourself, and you say it, beginning with 'never have I ever'. Like, 'never have I ever worn cowboy boots.'"

"Not your turn, missy," drawls McCree.

"Just an example! Everyone who's done it, drinks. When we run out of shots, whoever has the least glasses wins. So you want to find something that everyone has done, to make as many people drink as possible."

Mei lowers her mug and chews her lip briefly. "Okay. Never have I ever… smoked a cigarette."

Lúcio whistles. "Nice start."

Everyone except Mei takes a tiny shot from the circular tray on the table. McCree downs his and clears his throat. "Never have I ever," he says slowly, weighing his options, "gotten a degree."

Only Morrison doesn't reach for a glass. McCree watches the Shimadas knock their shots back in unison and wonders what kind of degrees they might've gotten. A double major in murder and extortion?

"At this rate, I'll be treating everyone for alcohol poisoning before the turn ends," Mercy comments drily.

"Better get prepared, then, because I've got another good one," says Fareeha happily. McCree recognizes that expression: it's her 'I'm about to prank someone' face. "Never have I ever slept with a man."

This time there's a collective groan around the table, as everyone but Morrison takes another one. McCree freezes briefly with the glass halfway to his mouth, watching Hanzo drink; not like he didn't have his suspicions, he might've caught an appreciative glance or two that Hanzo cast at the male part of the roster over the last months, and their banter could be interpreted as flirting — it certainly is on McCree's part — but there's a difference between suspecting and hoping and knowing for sure…

…and speaking of knowing: McCree catches Morrison's eye and raises his eyebrows meaningfully, absolutely prepared to call him out if he has to. Morrison goes red in the face, mumbles something about biting hands that feed and drinks, and Fareeha starts laughing.

"Well, that escalated quickly," says Lúcio cheerfully. "Just FYI, I think you've set an impossible standard. Never have I ever stabbed anyone."

"That's not a bad one either." McCree nods with appreciation and adds another glass to his growing collection. Shimadas drink, obviously, and so does Morrison, but there's a moment of stunned silence when Mercy picks up a glass and drains it with a wince. 

It takes her a moment to notice the mute stares from around the table. "What?" she says defensively. "I was attacked and I had a scalpel."

The look Genji gives her is so obviously starry-eyed that McCree nearly feels bad for the man. "Never have I ever," says Genji, still gazing dreamily at Mercy, "shot anyone."

"I don't like the direction this game is takin'," McCree complains good-naturedly. "You tryin' to make me pass out?"

Hanzo outright grins into his glass. "Never have I ever caused an explosion," he declares loudly, looking right at McCree.

McCree fails to contain a grin of his own. "Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal," he mutters and throws back another shot. He'll have to start a second stack of glasses at this rate.

"Oh come on, I haven't even finished the previous one," grumbles D.Va and takes two shots in quick succession, grimacing. "You all skipped sex and went straight for murder. What is _wrong_ with you? You're supposed to come up with something funny, or at least interesting, and not all the ways to kill people. Never have I ever been in love."

Fareeha, Genji and Mercy grab their glasses immediately. Mei's expressive face falls before she takes hers. Morrison hesitates for a long while before picking one up with a quiet sigh, and McCree barely notices the warning look Mercy shoots D.Va, because he's staring at the tray, unsure.

He's honestly got no idea if he should drink or not. It's just a bit of a crush, after all, not the big dramatic thing he's kinda always thought love would be. He's not losing sleep over Hanzo or anything, on the contrary, he's started sleeping much better recently, and Hanzo is hot, sure, and he's surprisingly great company and a good partner to work with, but he's also an unrepentant asshole and a mean sonofabitch sometimes —

In his peripheral vision, Hanzo's hand twitches, as if he wanted to reach out and thought better of it, balls into a fist, then shoots out to pick up a glass. The fact that it makes McCree's heart go faster probably means that he should drink after all, goddammit.

"It's your turn, Jack," says Mercy gently. McCree grabs the shot and downs it. No point overthinking a stupid game.

Morrison glares at his glass like it offended him, then puts it down with a loud _clack_. "I think I'm too old for this," he says. "Have fun."

In the silence, the closing door sounds like a gunshot.

"Yikes," whispers Lúcio.

"I think murder worked better," says Mercy wryly. "Never have I ever made someone angrily leave the room."

 


	5. Catching the Other Before They Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompt: Catching the other before they fall
> 
> Rating: T

Hanzo is like a cat — aloof, individualistic, moody, occasionally mean — and just like a cat he's cocky, unwaveringly confident of his skills. A year ago, McCree would have watched him repeatedly spit gravity in the face with nothing but awe, but now… He knows Hanzo's been doing this all his life. He would never doubt his competence. But he's seen plenty of cats missing the jump or misjudging the impact of their claws on smooth surfaces, and now that he's actually got something to lose, now that he's got _Hanzo_ to lose, he can't help the little curl of fear in his chest whenever Hanzo pulls off a stunt.

It gets him distracted when it shouldn't.

Once he gets grazed by a bullet because he's too slow to dodge, busy watching Hanzo leap effortlessly from one third story window to another. Hanzo scolds him later for not paying attention and spends the rest of the day grumpy and unsociable. The other time he sees Hanzo pressured by enemy fire to the very edge of the roof, sees the archer's foot hit the edge, heel in the air, and he can't help himself, he lurches forward on pure instinct — but he's too slow to get there in time. Hanzo leaps back with the grace of an acrobat, loses some of the momentum bouncing off the opposite wall like a cat, jumps again and lands in a crouch with a barely-audible 'oof', right in front of McCree, who's paralyzed five feet away, hands futilely outstretched.

Back in their shared room, Hanzo shouts that the impact could have killed him. That it would have been safer for both of them if McCree kept his distance. That he knows what he's doing, that he's been doing it his whole life, that he's got boots made specially for this purpose. McCree grits his teeth and bears it until Hanzo runs out of steam, but he's got no intention to apologize, and Hanzo doesn't either. It takes two days for everything to come back to normal, for Hanzo to start smiling again.

McCree does his best to stop looking up from then on.

* * *

They are late to the party, literally and figuratively.

"Guess we got a free evening after all," McCree drawls at the sight of what was the host's private office thirty seconds ago. Seems like the blast blew out the glass wall and most of the room's contents with it, including the host himself; McCree's sure the omnic was inside, he watched him enter the office two minutes before the bomb went off, and there is no body, no remains, just a smoldering carpet on an empty, debris-littered floor.

They might've failed the mission before it even started, but they still have a moment to snoop around before the cops show up. Unfortunately, there's not much left to snoop around in: the bomb must've been planted inside or behind the desk, now reduced to splinters and glass, and all that's left in the room is a bunch of paintings on the walls and a miraculously alive potted plant in a corner.

McCree walks over the crunching remains of a chandelier to where the window used to be. He brushes some of the debris away from the edge with his boot, just so he doesn't accidentally kick something off and hurt someone below, and leans forward to check if he can see what's left of the unfortunate businessman they were supposed to observe.

He gets yanked back so hard he stumbles and nearly falls on his ass; if if wasn't for the grip on his sleeve, he would. He nearly clocks Hanzo in the face on pure reflex.

"What the hell?!" he growls, winding down from the surge of adrenaline.

Hanzo stares at him wide-eyed, mouth open like he was going to say something, McCree's sleeve still scrunched in his fist. He swallows and lets go. "I'm sorry," he says. "I thought —"

"Hey now. I ain't no ninja, but I ain't _that_ clumsy, either," McCree grouses, fighting the stupid smile that threatens to take over his face. He puts an arm around Hanzo's shoulders and squeezes meaningfully. "C'mon. Let's skedaddle before someone blames us."

* * *

"I don't know how to deal with this," says Hanzo in the darkness.

McCree isn't asleep either. He hums encouragingly against the back of Hanzo's head.

"I knew you weren't going to fall off. You didn't stumble, you were just looking down."

"I get scared every time you do one of your goddamn ninja jumps," McCree mutters into Hanzo's hair when it becomes clear he's not going to continue.

Hanzo takes a deep breath. "It's not the first time I act irrationally out of fear I'll lose you. It's detrimental to the team. It's detrimental to _you_. And I'm afraid I'll lose you _because_ I was too emotionally impacted to do the right thing —"

The last time McCree heard Hanzo's voice waver like this was about a month ago, long into the night, when they lay in the darkness, sated and blissful, and said things neither of them had ever said before. He much prefers the old reasons.

"Hey," he murmurs and coaxes Hanzo into turning around so they're eye to eye, a futile effort because Hanzo immediately buries his face in his neck. He settles for stroking Hanzo's hair. "Everything's got a price. Still worth it."

"Don't die," comes muffled from the vicinity of his collarbone.

"I'll do my damnedest not to, sweetheart. If you do the same."

"I guess that's all I can do," sighs Hanzo. "Do my best."

"You'll ace it, like everything else. And I promise to have a li'l more faith in your ninja skills."

He shivers from the warm huff of breath against his neck; Hanzo pulls away, reaches up, kisses him, slow and intense and sweet. "I know how competent you are," he murmurs. "I will try to keep that more firmly in mind. But please, stay away from great heights."


	6. Getting Caught in the Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompt: Getting caught in the act
> 
> Rating: M

"This is unprofessional to the highest degree," Hanzo complains when McCree crowds him against the pool table.

"Nonsense," says McCree, nosing around his ear. "I've done plenty more unprofessional things."

"We're supposed to be resting, not doing, ah, this."

McCree unzips Hanzo's jacket, slides both palms under his t-shirt, across smooth, hot skin. One of Hanzo's hands lets go of the edge of the table and slides into his hair, tightens briefly when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Hanzo's neck. "Do you really want to stop and go to sleep?" he murmurs against the damp skin, as low and suggestive as possible. He knows his voice is Hanzo's weakness. He exploits that weakness as much as he possibly can.

Hanzo doesn't respond, lets McCree tilt his head back, swallows. "If we get killed because we get jumped with our pants down—"

"First of all, Ana and Jack are keeping watch, and nobody gets past Ana. Secondly, I ain't touching your pants, sweetheart." He pointedly runs his palms up Hanzo's ribs, bunching the t-shirt under his armpits, slides both thumbs across brown nipples.

"That was a figure of speech," says Hanzo, slightly breathy now.

"Nobody's gonna jump you here but me. And now that you gave me the idea, I'm _mighty_ tempted." He pushes slightly against the muscle under his palms and Hanzo leans willingly back; the inhale McCree hears when he slides his tongue across the left nipple is not a gasp yet, but it's damn promising.

"You know Ana or Jack could walk in here at any moment."

"Don't rightly care," he says because he really doesn't — there's something about having Hanzo pushed against a pool table in a dimly lit room in the middle of the night that wakes up the darker part of Jesse McCree, the one that likes to push and take, and he grabs Hanzo by the waist and hoists him up onto the table, with a grunt because Hanzo's not light by any means, and latches onto his neck again. 

Hanzo stills for a second, then gets his hand in McCree's hair again and forcibly pulls him off. "Wait a moment." His eyes are dark and he's slightly flushed, but his eyebrows are raised meaningfully and McCree knows that smile — it's the satisfied smile Hanzo wears when he figures something out. "Do you have a _thing_ about pool tables, Jesse?"

McCree laughs, slightly embarrassed. "Shut up, it's not like that. 'S just a nice horizontal surface at the perfect height for a number of fun things."

"Is it?" Hanzo lets go of McCree's hair and leans back on his arms, still smiling. Whatever he sees in McCree's face must be damning because he chuckles quietly and suddenly falls all the way backwards. "So you weren't thinking about something like this?" he asks, stretching luxuriously with his t-shirt still half bunched up, arms loosely extended above his head, smug and grinning and beautiful.

McCree nearly has a heart attack. He's already been getting hard, but this sends all his blood southward so fast he gets lightheaded from it, because truth be told, there's always been something erotic about this innocent piece of furniture and he _might_ have entertained a thought or two, and at least one of these fantasies started pretty much like this — except now he also kind of wants to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off Hanzo's face.

And there it is, the responding spark of challenge in Hanzo's eyes, daring him, taunting him to do it.

He retaliates by leaning over Hanzo, palms planted on both sides of his waist. It puts their hips in maddeningly insufficient contact, just enough to confirm that despite protests, Hanzo's very much on board with the direction things are taking. "Seems to me you've been thinkin' about something too, sweetheart," he says, only slightly strangled, and puts a hand on Hanzo's bare stomach, slides a thumb through the dark treasure trail.

"I'm afraid I can't say I have," Hanzo informs him loftily, still grinning like a satisfied cat, even though McCree can feel the shiver running though the tight muscles under his hand. "It's just hard not to notice that you got aroused by a _pool table_."

McCree knows how to play dirty, too. He straightens, yanks Hanzo's hips closer to the edge and lifts his thighs so that he has no choice but to wrap his legs behind McCree's, and leans back in, grinding down hard enough that Hanzo jerks and bites his lip. "I didn't get aroused by the table, sugar," he growls, pitching his voice low. "I got aroused by the thought of fucking you on it. I was thinkin' about simply bendin' you over, but I can work with you all laid out like this."

"Can you, now." Hanzo pretends to stay cool, but his nostrils flare and his fingers twitch above his head; it's as much of an encouragement as he'll ever get when Hanzo feels like being contrary, and he knows Hanzo _knows_ this will only make him want more — Hanzo loves these little games, loves egging McCree on — and he's just about to go back on his words earlier and shove his hand inside Hanzo's pants when there's a loud creaking noise from behind and above them, and they both freeze.

"Like a pair of horny teenagers, I swear. You have five minutes," Ana says long-sufferingly from the staircase. "After that I'm going to the bathroom no matter what you two are doing."


	7. Massage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from [immawriteyouthings](https://immawriteyouthings.tumblr.com/): Massage
> 
> Rating: T

They get noticed on a stakeout and have to beat a hasty retreat, and Hanzo misses two shots on a pursuer before McCree picks up the slack.

McCree doesn't mention it, but he wonders, because he hasn't ever seen Hanzo miss an easy shot like that, let alone two in a row. Hanzo doesn't talk for the rest of their escape, except for a 'yes' or 'no' or an acknowledging grunt whenever McCree asks for his input, and when they finally reach the safehouse after circling around the city for ages to make sure they're not followed, he goes straight for the bathroom without a word.

McCree listens to the sound of running shower while slowly pulling off his gear. It's kind of rude to take the shared bathroom without asking, but Hanzo's not the most polite of men on his best day and even worse when he's pissed off, and it's pretty clear that he's treating the missed shots like some sort of a personal failure. McCree doesn't mind all that much. He's no diplomat himself, and if he badly needed to piss, he'd probably just shrug and barge in. The door doesn't lock anyway.

Hanzo emerges out of the bathroom with the same frown he's been wearing for two hours now, or possibly even grumpier. Only after McCree finishes his own shower and goes for his bag in search of a clean shirt, he finally understands what's going on: he finds Hanzo sitting on the side of his bed and rubbing his left shoulder blade, trying to dig his fingers into the muscle at an awkward angle and failing.

So that's why he failed those shots. McCree winces sympathetically at Hanzo's quiet hiss: he knows from painful personal experience that a knot in that spot is never a fun thing.

He stops next to Hanzo's bed. "I can try to get that out for you, if you want," he offers.

Hanzo glances at McCree warily, arm still in the air. "With one hand?"

McCree shrugs. "I have two perfectly functioning hands. It's a prosthesis, not a lump of metal. But if you'd rather be in pain, then hey, knock yourself out."

Hanzo visibly deliberates. "I'd really rather not," he finally sighs, sounding defeated. Were it anyone else, McCree would probably retract the offer just out of spite for the obvious reluctance, but this is Hanzo, famously allergic to any offers of help; McCree reckons he should be the better person and reward him for going out of his comfort zone for once. He's always been a believer in positive reinforcement.

That, and he actually likes Hanzo, despite the grumpy archer's best efforts to the contrary.

"Alright," he says, cracking his knuckles. "Shirt off and lie down on your stomach."

Hanzo lowers his arm slowly and gives him a weird look. "Can't you do it sitting down?"

McCree tamps down the pang of annoyance: it's not like Hanzo to be shy about such things, the way he strips without a second thought whenever the situation demands it. "Look, I'm tryin' to help you here, and for that I'm gonna need you to lie flat."

A frustrated sigh. "Fine." Hanzo reaches for the hem of his t-shirt and slowly pulls it off; it's very obvious now that the movement range of his left arm is limited. McCree's kind of impressed he was able to draw the bow at all like this. The stubborn bastard must've ignored it until it got too bad to bear.

Hanzo turns without looking at him and flops face down on the bed, spread-eagled. McCree hesitates briefly: now that Hanzo had to go and make it weird, he realizes that kneeling astride Hanzo's hips is going to put him a _lot_ closer than he's ever been to the man, and Hanzo's gorgeous even when he's not shirtless and spread out like this and — goddammit. Here's hoping his body remains professional about this.

Thankfully, he forgets all about the awkwardness the moment he puts his hands on Hanzo's back. Those muscles aren't just tensed up, they're like goddamn steel cords, and before he can even think about getting to the knot he'll have to dig through that wall somehow.

"You gotta relax a bit, partner, or this is gonna take years," he says.

"I'm relaxed," Hanzo mutters glumly, tense as a bowstring.

McCree huffs. "You really ain't."

He doesn't get a response, but he can tell Hanzo at least makes an effort by the way his back expands slightly with a deep breath. It doesn't do shit for the state of his muscles, though, so McCree has no choice but to get to work.

The first minute is unpleasant, because there's no painless way to quickly get rid of this sort of tension. Hanzo groans and twitches when McCree starts with his shoulders, but at least he doesn't protest anymore, and McCree tries not to be too ruthless in return. He's given his fair share of massages in the past, but apart from maybe Reyes he's never had a chance to work with a back as beautifully muscled like this; it's a pleasure even without the undercurrent of attraction he does his best to ignore, so he slows down, reduces the pressure and takes his time.

By the time he finally gets to Hanzo's shoulder blades and starts working around them, Hanzo's back no longer resembles a wooden plank: he's softened enough to be mostly pliant, not fully relaxed yet but enough so that McCree can stop feeling like a torturer, and he's stopped jumping and hissing with every new angle.

"There, all nice and loose," McCree murmurs, smoothing his palms across Hanzo's back, satisfied with his handiwork, and nearly swears because the warm muscle immediately contracts under his hands. "Don't do that, dammit. This is gonna hurt more than it needs to if you don't relax."

Hanzo makes a weird sound into his pillow, something between a snort and a groan, but he doesn't reply, and the tension bleeds out of him slowly — right until McCree picks up his left arm and bends it to lay folded behind his back. Hanzo hisses at that and tenses all over again, so badly that McCree kind of feels guilty.

"Sorry," he mutters. "Gotta get under the shoulder blade. Didn't think it'd hurt that much. You need a moment?"

Hanzo turns his head to the side and takes a deep, slightly shaky breath. "I'm fine," he says with conviction. "Where did you learn this?"

"Same place as most of the random skills I've picked up: in Blackwatch, in an undercover job." McCree carefully works his thumb under Hanzo's shoulder blade and smiles to himself: it's one of his fonder memories. "Had to infiltrate a swanky five star beach resort, so I worked as a lifeguard during the day and a massage therapist assistant in the evening. Mostly I just carried towels around and wiped beds and shit like that, but the ladies were real nice and taught me a few tricks."

"I see," Hanzo says after a moment. "You're good. I apologize for doubting your skills earlier."

"Eh, this is nothing. If I had some oil to work with, I'd show you a _real_ good time," says McCree, leaning forward a bit to put more pressure onto the knotted muscle. Hanzo shudders, and the wrist McCree's holding behind his back jerks briefly. "Sorry. I know this hurts like a bitch."

Hanzo doesn't say anything, just turns his face back into the pillow and groans once more.

"Almost there," McCree murmurs soothingly, pushing Hanzo's arm a bit higher up his back, digging under the shoulder blade with his thumb, doing his damnedest to smooth out the tight bundle of tissue. "Just a li'l more."

"Do you have to —" Hanzo starts, voice strangled, but he cuts himself off halfway.

McCree waits, but there's no continuation. "'Fraid I do, unless you want me to stop."

Clearly Hanzo doesn't, because he falls quiet after that and lets McCree wrench his arm in search of the best angle without a reaction other than an occasional twitch and muffled gasp. It takes a few more minutes of prodding and pushing, but the knotted muscle finally gives completely, to McCree's immense satisfaction, and he gives it a good, warming rub to make sure it stays that way before letting go of Hanzo's wrist and leaning back.

"There you go," he says. "Better?"

Hanzo takes so long to react that McCree almost thinks he fell asleep — but no, he finally moves, pulls the arm back up and slides it under the pillow. "Better," he says, muffled. A long pause. "Thank you."

McCree makes a move to get off and abruptly realizes he's kind of been sitting on Hanzo's ass. He feels his face heat up. Hanzo would've told him to get off if he minded, for sure, and it's all been for his benefit anyway — but he jumps off the bed quickly regardless, before his body can catch up with his brain and react and make the situation even weirder.

He clears his throat. "All done," he says, in case it wasn't clear. "You can get up now."

Hanzo makes a sound that might be an acknowledgement, but he doesn't move, face still hidden in the pillow.

McCree huffs, amused — he's no stranger to the way a good back rub can melt a man into a puddle — and turns and crouches in front of his bag, digging for a clean shirt.

He jumps at the unexpected loud sound of a closing door, and turns around to look. The bathroom door is closed, Hanzo's bed is empty, and his t-shirt still lies abandoned on the comforter.

He stares at the bathroom door blankly, confused.

The understanding hits a moment after he hears the shower start.


	8. Truth or Dare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from [robo-cryptid](https://robo-cryptid.tumblr.com/): Truth or Dare
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Tags: fluff, ridiculous amounts of; crack

"I still don't see the point," Hanzo murmurs into his comm. The windows across the street remain dark. "Why would I submit to a dare when I can just lie? You don't have any means to verify that what I say is true."

"That's _exactly_ the point." The new, metallic timbre of Genji's voice has not changed his ability to produce audible eye rolls, and it still makes Hanzo want to remain obstinate out of spite. "If you decide to play the game, you enter a gentleman's agreement not to lie. There would really be no point otherwise."

"So I'm not only expected to give true answers, but also to believe that the others aren't lying?" he says, mildly incredulous.

"Hanzo 'Trust Issues' Shimada, playin' truth or dare? You'd have more luck with strip poker."

Hanzo gives McCree a flatly unimpressed stare. McCree smirks and pretends to keep looking through the binoculars.

"It's a work in progress," says Genji, unfazed. "If you prefer strip poker, I don't mind either, I'm safely away from you two, so as long as you don't try to send me photos —"

This time it's Hanzo who rolls his eyes. "We're on a _stakeout_. No poker."

"Truth or dare it is, then. Who's starting?"

"I don't mind," says McCree. "Not sure how you want to do dares when we're stuck on a roof, though."

"I have faith in you, Jesse. Truth or dare?"

"Truth. I'm feelin' lucky."

Hanzo reaches out and taps him on the shoulder, wordlessly extends a hand: _someone_ needs to keep watching. McCree hands over the binoculars, rolls to lie on his back, folds his arms under his head.

"First crush," says Genji.

McCree huffs. Hanzo resists the urge to check his expression, brings up the binoculars instead. The flat opposite remains annoyingly empty; shame, because it's getting late, and the concrete roof is not the most comfortable of places to spend the night on.

"Gabriel," McCree says. Genji makes a strange noise. "Not _that_ Gabriel," he adds, exasperated. "A buddy in Deadlock. Three years my senior and the biggest 'no homo' douchebag the world had ever seen. Got over him pretty quickly, and then he got himself shot. Hanzo: truth or dare?"

"Truth. I have nothing to hide." Genji emits an obnoxious sound over the comm, which he elects to ignore.

"Really now." In his peripheral vision, McCree's head turns; Hanzo steels himself for the inevitable. "Same question, then. Your first crush."

"Do fictional characters count?"

McCree's eyebrows go up. "Sure."

"No they don't!" Genji protests immediately.

"Why not? A crush is a crush. I asked, so we're goin' by my rules. Go on, Hanzo."

Hanzo chews his lip briefly, fighting an undignified smile. "There was a samurai manga that Genji once showed me —"

"You had a crush on _Himura Kenshin_?!" Genji exclaims, high-pitched. His tone is so incredulous that Hanzo has to bite the inside of his cheek to sound appropriately serious.

"No, Sagara Sanosuke. Have you never wondered why I was so obsessed with Rurouni Kenshin?"

"I thought it was because the story was cool!" whines Genji. "I can't believe my brother was gay for my childhood heroes. I feel so dirty now."

"I admit, Sanosuke did play a major part in my journey to discovering my sexuality," Hanzo says, straight faced and dignified, and relishes the sounds of utter distress that come over the comm.

Next to him, McCree shakes with quiet laughter; when he sees Hanzo looking, he extends a fist with a grin. It would be rude to ignore it. Hanzo reaches out and delicately bumps his knuckles against McCree's metal ones.

"Genji. Same question, unless you prefer a dare."

Genji emits one last disgusted 'ugh' before replying. "Haiji, our cook. She was amazing. Scarier than most of Father's _kobun,_ and cooked better than anyone I've ever met. I wonder what became of her. Hanzo: truth or dare?"

"I told you, I have nothing to hide—"

"Yeah, yeah. We'll see about that. Your most recent crush."

Hanzo's ears become suddenly, uncomfortably warm. "That… is personal," he manages, cursing himself for that little stammer.

"That's the _point_ ," his brother replies, voice oozing satisfaction and that special, Genji-only brand of cheerful cruelty.

Hanzo wonders if he knows — but no, he can't, Hanzo's pretty sure he's been keeping this firmly under wraps. Genji is perceptive, but not _this_ perceptive. If he managed to miss Hanzo's incredibly obvious crush on Sagara Sanosuke, then there's no possibility he'd somehow notice his weakness for a certain black-ops-turned-vigilante.

"I'll take the dare instead, then," he says, willing his ears to stop burning.

Genji sighs. "Boring. Fine: sing a song."

Of course he would choose the most humiliating of dares when McCree is right next to Hanzo and _watching_.

"You know I'm practically tone deaf," he says flatly.

"Yes, and your vocal range is abysmal, I know. You deserve to suffer for bailing out."

"I'm afraid you'll be the one suffering." Hanzo takes a deep breath, thinks for a moment. "Any song?"

"It has to have vocals," Genji adds quickly. "No humming."

"Cover your ears, McCree," Hanzo says grimly, steeling himself. Unexpectedly, McCree does just that: he pulls the comm out and sticks both index fingers in his ears. Strangely, it makes Hanzo feel slightly better. He reminds himself that he survived actual torture in the past, takes a deep breath and begins.

_"Hey Jude, don't make it bad,_

_Take a sad song and make it better…"_

It's one of about five songs in existence that he's capable of singing without making a complete fool of himself. McCree's smile widens — of course he cheated — but before Hanzo can choke on shame, McCree does the last thing he could have expected: he joins. His soft baritone is much better suited for the song than Hanzo's raspy, sharp voice, not to mention that McCree can actually sing and has occasionally done so in the past; not singing alone helps a lot, and they go through two whole verses before McCree stops, chuckles and admits he doesn't remember the rest.

"Good, because I can't do the next verse with my voice," says Hanzo, incredibly relieved.

McCree beams at him, sticking the comm back in his ear. "Love that song. Been ages since I heard it. And your voice ain't that bad, you just need more practice."

Genji's being suspiciously quiet on the comms. Hanzo wonders if he chickened out of listening.

"McCree, truth or —"

"Dare," says McCree immediately.

Hanzo has a challenge ready, and he can't wait. "Compose a haiku."

McCree makes a betrayed face. "I sang with you and that's how you repay me?"

Hanzo suddenly remembers that this is supposed to be a stakeout and brings the binoculars to his eyes, mildly ashamed of himself. Fortunately, they managed not to miss anything, the windows are still dark and the flat is empty; it's starting to look like their suspect might be spending the night somewhere else, which, considering it's Friday, is not entirely impossible.

"The five-seven-five syllables thing is not a hard requirement, is it?" McCree asks slowly. Hanzo knows that tone well: McCree is planning something and he thinks it's going to be hilarious.

"Haiku should be a short and elegant observation about a fleeting moment that involves nature in some manner. And yes, the syllable requirement is secondary when composing in English."

"Alright. I got one, very elegant." McCree clears his throat theatrically. Hanzo turns to look, sees the signature shit-eating grin, and can't help an answering smirk in anticipation of something truly awful.

"Roses are red. Violets are blue. It's snowin' on Mount Fuji," McCree recites in a voice as serious as he can manage through the grin.

Hanzo shudders with disgust and starts laughing, and in his ear, Genji snorts too.

"No laughin' at my poetry! That was straight from depths of my heart, you heathens. Genji! Truth again?"

"Sure," says Genji. "My last crush is Lúcio, the suspect just arrived at my location, and you two are disgustingly hopeless. Go on a date or something, for god's sake. I've got this covered. Over and out."

Hanzo freezes with absolutely no idea what to say or do, and since remotely strangling Genji is out of the question, he busies himself with folding and pocketing the binoculars, instead.

"Well, it's still early," McCree says after a few seconds, carefully neutral. "Wouldn't mind grabbin' a bite. Wanna come?"

Hanzo turns towards him and hesitates, teetering on the precipice of the unknown.

McCree stands up, pulls out the comm, pockets it, reaches out. "C'mon," he says, quieter, and winks. "I'll sing you another song if you come."

Hanzo looks at the outstretched hand and up, at the whiskey-brown eyes and the crow's feet, the shaggy beard and the smile. "I don't compose poetry until the third date," he says, and McCree laughs and pulls him up.

On the way to the burger joint, McCree sings "I Want To Break Free," complete with a partial reenactment of the music video.

Hanzo can't help himself. He composes a poem about Jesse's smile on the second date they go on.


	9. Awkward Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompt: Awkward Kiss
> 
> Rating: T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to interpret the “awkward” in a rather nonstandard way because of the kind of a person I am.

"You know, in theory, I could actually die from this," McCree says conversationally. It's harder to speak than he expected, and his own voice sounds strangely wheezy in his ears.

Hanzo ignores him in favor of investigating the computer terminal on the other side of the room.

"This ol' heart could give out any moment," he continues. "Or I could rupture a brain vessel. From all the pressure, y'know. Pop, instant brain damage," he adds, and then he has to stop for a moment because it is, in fact, weirdly difficult to breathe in this position.

"He's conscious and talking," Hanzo says, curt and tense, with a hand to his ear. "Mostly coherent. Definitely sedated."

"C'mon, baby, let me down already," McCree wheedles, plaintive. "You don't want a brain-damaged partner, do you?"

Hanzo shushes him with a sharp hiss and a raised hand. "Yes," he says. "No." A pause. "I don't know." He turns around and stalks closer. McCree can't make out his expression upside down, but that configuration of eyebrows definitely doesn't look happy.

"Jesse, I need you to focus," Hanzo says sharply and continues before McCree manages to formulate an appropriately wounded response. "Has anyone been in here recently? Has anyone talked to you at all?"

McCree obediently attempts to focus. "Don't think so. I… don't remember a whole lot. Got no idea how I ended up all hogtied." He frowns and tries to shake off the sudden fuzziness of his thoughts. "I remember gettin' gassed. And then gunshots somewhere outside. And then you," he smiles at the memory of the overwhelming joy of seeing Hanzo behind the kicked down door.

Hanzo raises a finger to his ear again. "He says they haven't tried yet." A moment of silence. "I don't _know_ ," he says tightly. McCree knows that tone: it's Hanzo's frustrated-with-himself voice, the _I should be able to do better_ voice. His go-to approach upon hearing this voice has always been a hug. He tries to reach out and smooth out the deep wrinkle between Hanzo's eyebrows, at least, and only then he remembers that he can't move his arms at all.

"Any chance you could let me down, sweetheart?" he tries again. "'Cause my head does actually feel a bit funny—"

Hanzo's hand drops away from his ear; he spits out a few quiet, angry words in Japanese, then takes a step forward and reaches out with both hands. His palms feel cold against the sides of McCree's head.

"Jesse. You have two IV feeds in your arm and a number of other wires attached to your body and head." He's going for calm, McCree can hear it, but he can also hear the way he's clenching his teeth. "I can't get you down before I get these things off you, and I can't get them off before we know what they've been pumping into you and whether it can safely be stopped. _Please_ be quiet."

"Oh." McCree blinks and cranes his neck to look at his right arm, or rather he tries and fails, because the dancing black spots immediately obscure most of his vision. "I'm sorry," he says lamely.

"Don't be sorry, just —" Hanzo closes his eyes, brings their foreheads together and exhales. "Stop talking about death and brain damage."

"For what it's worth," McCree murmurs after a while, "I don't feel any murderous urges towards anyone but Talon."

"We hope they didn't do anything apart from sedating you yet," Hanzo says quietly. "Mercy is running an analysis on whatever is in those bags as we speak. As soon as I know it's not going to harm you, I'll pull you down. I promise."

McCree closes his eyes and breathes. Now that he thinks about it, he can't actually feel most of his body at all. At least he can definitely feel Hanzo's cool forehead against his, and Hanzo's thumbs rubbing gently back and forth along the edge of his jaw.

"You came for me," he mumbles.

Hanzo gently knocks their foreheads together. "You must be heavily drugged if this surprises you."

McCree smiles. "'M not all that surprised. Just… feels nice. If I gotta stay like this, can I get a kiss at least?"

The angle is weird and wrong, his lips feel kinda numb, Hanzo's beard tickles his nose something fierce and he can't even scratch the itch, and on top of everything, he has to break away nearly immediately to catch his breath.

"That," he wheezes, "wasn't as cool as it looked in the movies."

Hanzo pulls away and smiles. "Nothing is ever as cool as in the movies."

"Not true. You are." McCree really wishes he could hug Hanzo, because that smile looks way too fragile to fit the sharp angles of Hanzo's face. "No ninja in any movie ever has been as badass as you, darlin'."

Hanzo's face does something truly complicated that McCree can't hope to decipher upside-down.

The black spots increasingly crowd his field of vision, even though he's not moving anymore. "Don't wanna alarm you, pumpkin, but I'm gettin' real woozy here," he mumbles.

"Don't fall asleep," Hanzo barks, suddenly loud and commanding. His grip on McCree's face goes from gentle to uncomfortably tight. "Jesse!"

"I'm tryin'," he says, but what comes out of his mouth instead sounds a lot like a slowed-down recording, too stretched out to count as words, and he can only helplessly watch Hanzo's shout into the comm before his eyes close for good.

* * *

McCree wakes up with his head pillowed on something soft, with warm fingers combing through his beard, and most importantly, _horizontal_.

He can feel his legs again, which is great. He can also feel the soreness of his right arm and his scalp, which is a lot less great, and the taste in his mouth, which is downright horrible. He opens his eyes and for a long, confused moment he wonders why Hanzo's face is still upside down — but then he realizes he's lying with his head in Hanzo's lap, with a bundle of fabric serving as a pillow, and the steady noise at the edges of his awareness is the sound of very familiar engines.

"Guess you got me down in the end," he smiles.

"Yes," Hanzo says simply. He doesn't return the smile, expression serious and, as far as McCree is able to tell upside down, scrutinizing, and McCree feels cold all over when he realizes why.

"I guess I'm gonna sleep alone for a couple of weeks," he says, aiming for wry and wincing when he misses by a mile and ends up somewhere near miserable.

"No," says Hanzo immediately. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. Mercy is ninety-five percent sure they didn't start the procedure before we found you, anyway."

"That's five percent more than I'm willin' to risk, darlin'."

"I'm not Gérard Lacroix, Jesse. He was a civilian, I'm a fighter from birth. I can defend myself if I need to."

McCree sighs. "She shot him through the pillow in his sleep, Hanzo. How are you plannin' to defend yourself against _that_?"

Hanzo grunts, as if conceding the point. "Fine. I'll handcuff you to the bed, if I must. Or I will tie you down."

McCree can't help the single huff of laughter. "Kinky."

Hanzo's mouth finally twitches, and the frown loses some intensity. "…Either way, you will be burdened with my constant presence for the foreseeable future, so better get used to the idea."

Before he can bring up another argument, Hanzo bows and shuts him up with a kiss. McCree twitches — his mouth tastes disgusting and his breath probably smells worse — but Hanzo doesn't pull away, and this time he tilts his head slightly so that his beard doesn't go up McCree's nose, and the alignment still feels strange, but it's nice, sweet and exploratory and new.

"Consider me convinced," he says weakly when Hanzo pulls back. "Guess you better find a pair of handcuffs before the day is over, then."

Now, _that_ mouth twitch he recognizes instantly, even upside down.

"You already have the handcuffs," he whispers, somewhere between scandalized, surprised and exhilarated.

"Mm-hm."

"And you were plannin' to break 'em out when?"

Hanzo's cheeks pinken. "When the inspiration struck."

In Hanzo-speak, it means "when I found the courage to do it". McCree's heart suddenly feels full to bursting. "I feel a lot more forgivin' towards Talon, for some reason," he says, grinning slightly manically to cover the way his lower lip suddenly tries to wobble.

Hanzo makes an offended noise and leans down, and the third time, the upside-down kiss is soft and perfect and not awkward at all.

 


	10. Possessiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from [pippitypopadoo](https://pippitypopadoo.tumblr.com/): _I would like to request mchanzo with some possessiveness, sort of like one of them wanting the whole world to know that they are exclusively with each other and the other gets really pleased about it._
> 
> Rating: M
> 
> Tags: jealousy

There was a time in McCree's life, a time he remembers mostly fondly, when 'gathering information' often meant 'flirting with the right people'. He'd been the most handsome of their little Blackwatch squad, no question, and unattached and free as a bird, and he knew how to lay on the charm; he had gotten good at it, gained a fair bit of intelligence for the team along the years, and even got some real good sex and a few reliable contacts out of it. Now, though… He's not sure how Hanzo feels about exclusivity. They haven't really talked about this, what with the Thing between them still being new and rough at the edges, they haven't really talked much at all, to be honest, it mostly all just happened through looks and touches and a tacit agreement — but the appeal of the very pretty lady who's chatting with him with an unmistakable twinkle of interest in her eye is weirdly, unexpectedly low.

It's the first time the restored Overwatch is making a public appearance, though. It's the first time they're officially showing their cards and their faces, and every impression they make here, among the rich and privileged, is valuable in a way that can't be overstated, so he bows, kisses the air above her fingers and smiles, smooth and charming, and it's a bit like Blackwatch all over again.

Right until Hanzo appears at his side, in the three-piece dark blue suit that makes him look even more unreal, pulls the empty champagne flute out of McCree's left hand and replaces it with a full one.

"Introduce me, Jesse?" Hanzo asks in that regal tone of his, chin held high and eyes sharp. It takes a certain amount of willpower not to let the surprise show on his face because Hanzo puts the empty glass away and his hand rests on McCree's arm a moment after, and at this point he might as well piss on McCree's leg to mark his territory.

The agent in him freaks out. The rest of him… is weirdly satisfied with this display.

He introduces the lady, a prominent Omnic rights activist and a rising star in French politics, and introduces Hanzo as his teammate, not quite pointedly, but he knows Hanzo understands the hint when his fingers fall off McCree's bicep. The lady excuses herself moments later; fortunately, she doesn't seem offended, although the interest in her eyes has mostly given way to amusement.

"What was _that_?" he murmurs, watching her walk away.

Hanzo is silent for a few seconds, exhales sharply before answering. "I want to stamp 'mine' all over you," he murmurs, barely audible. "Ridiculous as it is."

McCree can't resist the incredulous glance to his side.

Hanzo's mouth twists in a little self-derogatory moue; he doesn't meet McCree's eyes. "I _know_ you're nobody's but your own. It appears I really don't like sharing. I apologize."

The thought that the strict, ever-professional Hanzo would do something like this, for _him_ , makes the gleeful smile really hard to withhold. He manages, but just barely. He turns to watch the room and hums thoughtfully. "Good thing you don't have to, then."

In his peripheral vision, Hanzo turns his head to give him a questioning look, and there's really no way they can discuss this in the middle of an extremely fancy mixer.

"Why do we always end up havin' these conversations in public?" McCree murmurs. "Meet me on the terrace in a couple of minutes?"

Hanzo hesitates and nods in confirmation before walking off — McCree suspects he's going to find that lady and apologize. Good on him. 

* * *

The night is warm, balmy, the best the Mediterranean has to offer; McCree walks down the terrace stairs to the border of the hedge maze and lights up. 

"Gotta say, never expected someone like you to be jealous over someone like me," he says wonderingly when Hanzo appears at his side a moment later.

Hanzo turns his head sharply. "What do you mean?"

McCree shrugs, takes a few steps into the maze, out of sight of the terrace. "I'm only here 'cause I'm real good at bullshittin' people. You _belong_ here. Had things gone a bit different, you'd be one of these rich, influential folks we're tryin' to woo to our cause. Hell, you were one of them just a few years ago."

Behind him, Hanzo blows a very undignified raspberry. "You know very well that money has nothing to do with one's worth."

"Still." McCree turns around, puffs out a small ring of smoke and grins. "Hanzo Shimada, jealous over li'l ol' me. I'm gonna need me some time to get over that one."

Hanzo huffs, bristles, folds his arms. He looks like a prince or a magnate, imposing and unreachable, but McCree remembers him wrecked and begging in the sheets not even twenty-four hours ago, and the superposition of these images does funny things to both his stomach and his nether regions.

"Did you ask me to come here just to mock me?" Hanzo asks, frowning.

He's pretending to be annoyed, but McCree knows how to read him well enough to see the discomfort underneath, and he drops the grin immediately, half giddy and half contrite. "No." He stubs out the cigar on the back of a handy bench, sticks it back into the fancy cigar holder Hanzo made him use. "I wanted to ask if you want us to be exclusive."

Hanzo immediately looks around, ever paranoid — but the party is still in early stages, and there's nobody wandering the maze yet.

"That lady was nice and all, but I prefer a li'l bite to my romance these days," McCree continues, voice low. Hanzo looks into his eyes, reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder, thumb pressing unerringly right against the spot where the bite mark lies, still fresh and achy; McCree can't quite control the shiver. "That's right," he murmurs. "Was gonna ask anyway, might as well do it now. Pretty sure I'm a lost cause for everyone who ain't you at this point. You want to make this official and exclusive, just say the word."

The way Hanzo looks at him, hand still on his shoulder, can only be described as intense. "You didn't strike me as the monogamous sort," he says carefully.

"Just needed to find the right man, it seems." McCree reaches out to Hanzo's waist and pulls him closer, meeting no resistance. "Wouldn't say I'm yours, darlin', not just yet, but you're by far the highest bidder around here."

That finally makes Hanzo smile, with that wicked smirk McCree fucking loves. "Is there a buyout price?"

McCree responds with a smirk of his own. "Nope. You gotta work for it like the rest of us honest, hard-workin' folk."

"Allow me, then," Hanzo breathes and presses closer, hands sliding up the lapels of McCree's expensive suit.

It's not the kiss McCree expected. It's the kind of kiss that has no place outside the bedroom, deep and filthy and suggestive, one that over the last month McCree's come to associate exclusively with nakedness and sweaty, mind-melting sex. They are hidden from view by the wall of the maze, but they're still in public, at a very important party full of very important people, and Hanzo, Hanzo who is always so reserved in public, is going all out, so much that he's even making those little hungry sounds McCree's never heard without one of them being balls deep in the other.

"Holy shit, darlin'," he gasps, pulling away for a second. "Is that a yes to the exclusivity or—"

"I told you," Hanzo growls, pushing forward again so that his next words are uttered directly against McCree's lips. "I want you _mine_. If you want me to earn it, I will."

This time McCree fails to suppress the quiet groan because being kissed like this without being able to get his hands on Hanzo's skin is just short of a torture, especially that there's absolutely no way they can _do_ anything before they get back to the hotel — not unless they get into one of the complimentary limos waiting outside and take a twenty-minute ride around the neighborhood to seal their new agreement — and he's starting to plan just that, through the rush of blood in his ears and his groin, when Hanzo pulls back, breathing hard.

"Don't even think about it," he says. "We have duties to attend to."

McCree sputters. "You started it!"

"And I'm ending it." Hanzo straightens the lapels of McCree's suit jacket, pats his chest and smiles. "Or rather… postponing it. Consider it an advance on my bid."

McCree closes his eyes for a moment and tries to calm himself down. "Auctions don't work like that, darlin'," he mutters, half resentful and half exhilarated. "Either you're in, or you're out."

Hanzo leans in again, but this time it's to whisper in McCree's ear. "How about this, then," he murmurs, breath hot against McCree's skin. "I promise to be all the way in in less than three hours."

And then he walks away, chin regally high, leaving McCree wheezing with suppressed laughter and sporting the most confused of all the boners in his life.


	11. This can't be happening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the Contrarian Fluff Meme: "send me an angsty prompt and I will subvert it into fluff".
> 
> Prompt from [robo-cryptid](https://robo-cryptid.tumblr.com/): This can't be happening
> 
> Rating: T

"I hate everything about this," Hanzo says grimly.

McCree glances into the mirror. Hanzo's sat on the closed toilet lid, arms folded, glaring daggers at the back of McCree's head. He's been in a huff ever since he finished his shift in the coffee shop, appeared in McCree's hotel room and learned about the lengths to which McCree's prepared to go to for his own undercover mission. He's still wearing the coffee chain's slightly too tight t-shirt and he's frowning something fierce, and McCree can't help but find it weirdly adorable.

"You're bein' awfully dramatic about this," he says, smiling.

Hanzo scoffs. "I'm not dramatic, I'm trying to stop you from making yet another terrible mistake. The hair is bad enough."

"Uh-huh. Not dramatic at all."

Hanzo's voice takes on a tone that's probably meant to be reasonable, but in fact sounds damn near pleading. "I'm serious. Your ridiculous hair is enough of a disguise already. Nobody's going to recognize you anyway, because for once in your life you don't look like you stepped out of a cattle farm in Texas."

"Sorry, pumpkin." McCree flips the trimmer open and tilts his head, considering the angle. "A sexy lifeguard just can't have a beard."

"If you shave, you're going to look like a porn actor who's trying too hard."

McCree beams, meeting Hanzo's eyes in the mirror. "Why, that's exactly the look I was goin' for, thank you, sweetheart."

"I swear, I will not be seen anywhere near you if you do this."

"Sure you will." McCree turns on the trimmer just to watch Hanzo wince. "It's practically my duty as a hot lifeguard to flirt with the hot grumpy hipster barista."

Hanzo snorts. "You flatter yourself."

"You just said I look like a porn actor, darlin'."

Hanzo grimaces, conceding the point, and folds his arms tighter. The way he's all bristled, he looks a bit like an offended owl. "You have too much body hair to be a proper porn actor," he grumbles eventually.

McCree can't contain a giddy grin. "Yeah, about that…"

"You did _not_."

McCree transfers the razor to the other hand, silently undoes the few fastened buttons of his shirt and opens it, revealing a freshly laser-treated chest, with only a tasteful triangle of neatly trimmed hair remaining.

Hanzo's expression is absolutely priceless. "This can't be happening," he says with flat dismay. "I must be having a particularly bad dream."

"C'mon, sweetheart. Just think about all the fun we're gonna have." McCree reins in the grin somewhat and attempts a soothing tone. "I'll be in your shop every damn day after hours, loud and flirty and hot like burnin'. I'll hit on you like there's no tomorrow, fluster you with my advances, and eventually win your grumpy heart. Are you ready for an epic summer romance?"

" _Fluster?_ I will throw you out of my shop."

McCree gives him a wink in the mirror. "No you won't. Can't throw out a perfectly polite and payin' customer. If you did, I'd be forced to register a complaint, and we wouldn't want you to get fired from your cover job, now, would we?"

He clicks the trimmer back on and pauses when Hanzo abruptly gets up, turns his back to McCree, straddles the toilet bowl and sits back down, folding his arms on the toilet's cistern.

"I refuse to watch this," Hanzo says dramatically.

McCree chuckles and holds the trimmer to his cheek. The first hairs fall into the plugged sink. "Just think how nice it'll feel to be wooed all over again."

Behind him, Hanzo lets out a drawn out snort of contempt. "You mean, to suffer your horrible pickup lines until I get tired of them enough to do something?"

"Took the words right out of my mouth," he grins, cutting another line through the beard.

"I'm sure working in customer service will inoculate me to flirting attempts very quickly," Hanzo adds grimly, still resolutely staring at the wall. "You have no idea how many people I've wanted to kill in just one week."

McCree doesn't respond, busy trimming the beard as close as he can to give the shaver a fighting chance. It wouldn't do to go into his new job with a fresh cut.

It's been years since he went properly undercover. He didn't even realize how much he's missed this — putting on a new skin, plunging into a new environment, getting to be someone else for a while — and this time it's even better because he's not doing it alone, there's three of them infiltrating the place from three different angles, and the prospect of doing so with Hanzo nearby makes the already fun-looking job twice as exhilarating.

He rubs a hand across the short bristles on his cheek. Not bad. It's been a long, long time since he last shaved off the beard and there might have been a tiny bit of worry in the back of his head, a little fear that the shave might reveal a sudden double chin or something — but no, the line of his jaw is still fine. Mighty fine, even, regardless of Hanzo's premature complaints.

Time for the shave, then.

Hanzo's shoulders slump when he hears the buzz of the razor. "You're sleeping on the couch. Permanently," he mutters so quietly McCree can barely hear him through the noise.

"You're gonna change your mind real soon, darlin', I promise you."

It goes faster than he expected, considering he's out of practice. Maybe the shavers have gotten better in the last couple of years, who knows — but after just a few minutes he puts down the razor and considers the effect of his work.

Pretty neat, if he does say so himself. The five o'clock shadow with a little bit of sideburn on each side gives the whole look authenticity, and when the bleached hair grows out a little and the roots start showing, his hot lifeguard persona is going to reach perfection.

"You can look now, sweetheart," he says, looking fondly at Hanzo's resigned slump against the cistern.

"Can't," Hanzo replies immediately. "I'm busy remembering the time when my partner still looked handsome."

McCree laughs, shakes his head, quietly pulls off the shirt and spares one last satisfied look in the mirror before walking over and putting both hands on Hanzo's tense shoulders.

It takes only a few moments of insistent rubbing for Hanzo to relax, reinforcing McCree's suspicion that the whole thing is mostly just for show. Hanzo likes to put up a show every now and then, especially when they haven't seen each other for a while, as if every day without McCree reconstructs some of the walls that took months to tear down in the first place — but knocking them over again and again is one of the most rewarding things McCree's done in his life. He’s almost looking forward to it now.

"C'mon, sweetheart, look at me," he murmurs into Hanzo's ear. "I promise it ain't gonna hurt your pretty eyes."

Hanzo mutters something about lies, but he allows McCree to pull him upright and away from his seat, lets himself be turned around, even though his eyes are now stubbornly closed.

McCree leans in to kiss him, as sweetly and convincingly as he can, and refuses to stop, chasing Hanzo's mouth until he turns his head all the way to the side, snorting quietly.

"Fine," Hanzo says. He's trying to sound disgruntled, but the fondness underneath makes McCree's heart swell. "But you're still sleeping on the couch until you grow your beard back."

"We'll see about that," he replies, letting Hanzo out of his arms, taking two steps back and leaning against the sink with his thumbs in his belt loops, smiling.

Hanzo opens his eyes and blinks.

McCree knows how to watch people; the parts of his life he hasn't spent shooting, he's spent observing others. He sees the way Hanzo's mouth, thinned in an obstinate grimace, softens. He sees his pupils dilate slightly and his Adam's apple bob. He sees Hanzo's chest rise in a deep breath and it takes all he's got not to allow the crooked smile to grow into a smug grin, because Hanzo is still very much capable of stubbornly pretending if he feels he's not being taken seriously.

"Do I really look that terrible?" he murmurs instead.

Hanzo stares for a second, two, exhales forcefully through his nose, stalks towards McCree and pulls him into a kiss with a hand in his freshly dyed hair. It's not a sweet kiss at all, although, in a way, it's also very convincing.

"I'll take that as a no," McCree manages, grinning widely now that he knows it's safe, and Hanzo lets go of his hair, grabs his hand, pulls him out of the bathroom and drags him towards the bed.

Hanzo doesn't let him out of bed for three hours. After that, McCree doesn't hear a single complaint, and when he walks into the coffee shop near the beach three days later, the hot grumpy hipster barista refuses to meet his eyes, and McCree is sure he can see a blush when he waits for his drink to be prepared.


	12. Fanfiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from [robo-cryptid](https://robo-cryptid.tumblr.com/): "Hanzo and McCree discover fanfiction about themselves on the internet."
> 
> Rating: M

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the Acceptable Substitute 'verse.

"Okay, but why is it always about my dick?!" Genji says loudly, sounding offended, the moment Hanzo and McCree enter the rec room.

Hanzo stops abruptly in the door and does a silent one-eighty, stone-faced, with a clear intention of leaving the way he came. "Hey, wait," McCree laughs, blocking the exit with outstretched arms, anticipatory grin already stretching his mouth. "Don't you wanna hear the context of that one?"

"I _really_ don't," Hanzo replies with emphasis, pushing against McCree's chest with both hands. If he really wanted to, he'd get McCree out of the way with one arm; the effort is half-hearted at best, so McCree interprets it as the token protest it is and doesn't budge.

"Aw, c'mon, sweetheart," he wheedles instead. Hanzo glares, but the corner of his mouth twitches up, and he turns back towards the room. McCree wraps an arm around his shoulders, just to prevent any further attempts to escape.

"Oh, hel _-lo_ , guys," says D.Va. For whatever reason, everyone in the room starts laughing. The nest of pillows in front of the holoscreen has been arranged in a wide circle, currently hosting Genji, Tracer, Lúcio, Mei and D.Va herself. There's a huge box of donuts glazed with shockingly unnatural colors and several opened bottles of soda in the center. "You should join us," she adds with a sweet smile that does not bode well. "We have snacks and _fascinating_ literature."

"What'd we miss?" McCree asks, attempting to get the still resisting Hanzo to move forward.

"I do _not_ want to know why they're talking about my brother's genitals," Hanzo grumbles at his side.

"C'mon, honey, don't be like that." McCree plants a kiss on Hanzo's temple with a little happy thrill: it's been over two months and he's still not over the fact that he's allowed to do this. "They have donuts. The good ones."

Hanzo grunts, conceding the argument. The donuts are from a fairly famous bakery downtown that's always besieged by tourists, and Hanzo's got a sweet tooth that borders on a liability. One night, he told McCree that he'd received several recruitment offers from Talon in the past; McCree can only thank the powers above that Talon didn't think to bribe Hanzo with an unlimited supply of chocolate, because if they did, he's pretty sure Hanzo wouldn't be with them today.

"Oh, it's not us, love," says Tracer. She's lying with her feet in Lúcio's lap and grinning ear to ear. "It's the Internet that's talking about Genji's knob. Writing steamy fiction about it, to be precise."

Hanzo lets out a quiet sound of disgust. McCree gives him a consolatory pat on the back.

"Dare I ask why they're writin' about Genji's dick?" he asks.

"Because it's fanfiction. Like romance novels, but shorter and free." Genji's holding a half-eaten donut glazed with a substance almost as radioactively green as his hair, and he points it at Lúcio. "And they're writing it because, apparently, I'm sleeping with Lúcio."

Under McCree's arm, Hanzo stiffens.

"And as a result of that, there's a lot of different theories about the nature of his dick," Lúcio adds smoothly, not looking up from the holopad he's reading. "Ranging between all-natural and a giant robotic schlong."

McCree chuckles, thwarting another of Hanzo's token attempts to run away. "Gotta admit, 'giant robotic schlong' doesn't sound half bad. How would that work, though? Would it, like, extend telescopically or somethin'?"

Mei mutters something in Chinese and covers her face with her palms; Tracer starts laughing with her mouth full, and ends up having a coughing fit. Lúcio squints thoughtfully at the holopad, gives it a few swipes. "The author doesn't go into details," he says. "You're right though, it would have to be hydraulic, wouldn't it? Unless Angela went with shape-memory alloys—"

Hanzo decisively removes himself from McCree's embrace and stalks towards the donut box. Admittedly, the mental image is enough to make even McCree wince.

"You know, I don't think I wanna consider the details after all," he decides. "I do wanna know why people are writin' imaginary filth about you two, though."

"Because they saw us working together and decided we're too hot not to be sleeping with each other," says Genji, extending a fist; Lúcio bumps it with a wide smile, still not looking away from his pad. "I'm greatly disappointed that they're fixating on my boring, vanilla dick instead of my amazing cyborg body, though."

"By the way," Tracer pipes up, still with that grin, "according to the Internet, not only you and Hanzo are sleeping together too, but you're _vastly_ more popular than Genji and Lúcio."

Genji scoffs theatrically. "These people have no taste," he says, stuffing the rest of the donut into his mouth.

McCree leers. "Well, they're not wrong on this one, at least." Hanzo plucks a pink glazed donut out of the box and gives him a dirty look. "Pretty sure we ain't done any PDA with bystanders present, though. Any explanation on why we're supposed to be fucking?"

"I think they just collectively decided you should, same as with Genji and Lúcio," says D.Va. "I mean, I kind of get it," she adds magnanimously. "You're both good looking and you have this East/West thing going on, cowboy versus samurai and stuff. And you stare at each other at every opportunity, which is really blisteringly obvious, FYI, since we're on the topic."

"I have absolutely nothing in common with the samurai," Hanzo mutters sullenly, dropping into an armchair next to D.Va's pillow nest and nibbling on the donut.

McCree considers the remaining contents of the box — the best ones have, of course, already been eaten — and Lúcio hums contemplatively, still reading. "Not gonna lie, some of this stuff is actually kinda hot," he says, glancing at Genji over the edge of the pad, with a small smile that McCree is tempted to classify as suggestive. "Like this one. It's even got pictures and they're not half bad either. Wanna read it?"

Genji raises one scarred eyebrow at the offered holopad. "With pleasure, but my hands are all sugary. Send me a link?"

Lúcio summons the keyboard and types so fast his fingers are a blur. "Done. Full disclosure, though, you're the one getting fucked in this one."

"I think I can take it," Genji grins, pointedly maintaining eye contact. His comm chimes.

Everyone but Mei groans, even McCree. Hanzo throws McCree a murderous glare and aggressively bites into his donut. McCree does feel a little bit guilty now, because he's fairly sure he just made Hanzo watch his brother get propositioned and the pastry might not be enough of a compensation; he abandons the baked goods and walks over to Hanzo's chair, instead, slides behind it and reaches to rub his shoulders in a silent apology.

Under his hands, Hanzo huffs out a sigh, relaxes, and reaches up to briefly scratch through the side of McCree's beard: apology accepted.

"Don't have anything actually decent about you guys yet, _but_ ," D.Va says, sending Tracer right into another coughing fit, "we found a few gems that you really need to read."

"They're so _awful_ ," whimpers Mei. "I felt dirty just from listening."

D.Va extends her pad towards Hanzo. "Try this one."

McCree's known her for long enough now to know that whatever she's offering with that expression can't be good. Hanzo clearly shares his opinion, because his shoulders twitch under McCree's palms, as if he's only just stopped himself from recoiling.

"I second that," says Genji, voice absolutely serious, which is an even better indicator of a looming disaster. "Both of you should read at least one page. It's a deeply enriching experience that you will not regret."

D.Va's outstretched arm doesn't waver, and McCree's always been too curious for his own damn good. He cranes his neck, but it's impossible to read anything upside down and at this angle; Hanzo seems dead set on examining the remains of his donut and pretending he didn't notice the pad in front of his face, so McCree has no choice but to lean past him, accept the pad with a sigh, lean against Hanzo's chair and start reading.

"It's the middle of a chapter, but the plot doesn't really matter anyway," D.Va adds just as he blinks with disbelief at the very first paragraph.

It's the weirdest, most uncomfortable and most hilariously terrible thing he's ever read. He's so mesmerized he barely notices the camera drone quietly rising above D.Va's shoulder; he points a finger at it without looking away from the page.

"Down with the camera, missy, before I take it down for you," he mutters.

"Spoilsport," D.Va says sourly. The drone obediently drops back down.

The text commands McCree's attention with the magnetic pull of something uniquely, extraordinarily terrible. It feels a bit like the instinct that draws onlookers towards catastrophic accidents. It feels like watching a trainwreck in slow motion. He knows the others are watching his expression like hungry vultures, so he puts on his best poker face, but it's harder than ever when every fiber of his being wants to make grimaces at the literary horror he's subjecting himself to.

"What the hell," he says when he gets to the end of the page, voice unsteady with disbelief, "have I just read?"

Hanzo sighs, mutters something unintelligible, turns in the chair, pulls the pad out of McCree's hand and starts reading, too.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" says Genji, grinning with smug satisfaction.

"How is it even — I can understand the rope and blindfold stuff, but _chocolate_?"

"Everyone likes chocolate," Tracer croaks, finally having gotten rid of the crumbs in her air passages.

"Not in those places, they don't." He shakes his head helplessly. "Guess I should be happy they gave a me a huge dick, at least."

Genji waggles his eyebrows. "Oh yes. The Internet pretty unanimously agrees that you're exceedingly well-endowed."

McCree gives him a meaningful smirk, and then everyone falls silent, because Hanzo makes a noise that sounds a little bit like choking. McCree cranes his neck: yep, he's just gotten to the chocolate bit.

"This is idiotic," Hanzo says, sounding hilariously offended. "Not even a ninja can tie themselves up and pour chocolate over themselves. There would have to have been a third party involved."

"Right?!" McCree beams at the top of Hanzo's head and rubs his shoulders again, feeling vindicated and weirdly proud. "And if I found you tied up, blindfolded and smeared with chocolate, do they really think I'd just — go for it?"

"I would hope not," says Hanzo wryly.

"Damn right. Pretty sure my first thought would be 'what the hell'. And the second would be 'who the fuck did this and how'."

D.Va purses her lips. "It was so bad it didn't even occur to me, but yeah. Someone would've had to tie Hanzo up and do the chocolate thing, wouldn't they?"

"And there I thought this couldn't get any worse," murmurs Mei.

"Do they think we hold orgies in Overwatch?" Hanzo demands, still indignant. He swipes to the next page; McCree reads over his shoulder.

"Oh, hell no," he says, just as Hanzo makes a sound of disgust. "Fucking hell, chocolate syrup does _not_ work as lube. Not that I tried," he adds hastily, because he's worked with Genji long enough to know what to expect. "Looks like the author hasn't either."

"There are chocolate-flavored lubes, though," Lúcio points out.

"The author definitely means 'chocolate syrup'," says Hanzo coolly. "They mention it in at least two separate instances."

McCree gives up, straightens. "I'm no delicate flower, but that's just gross. Got somethin' that ain't disgusting?"

D.Va silently reaches out. McCree tries to tug the pad out of Hanzo's hand; Hanzo makes a wordless noise of protest, refuses to let go and slaps lightly at McCree's fingers. "I'm not finished," he declares, still reading. A glance tells McCree that the plot progressed past the weird chocolatey bondage-fucking into mutual confessions; their fanfiction counterparts still haven't brought up the topic of the third party involved, or acknowledged that the whole bed must be an unearthly level of gross.

He wouldn't have expected Hanzo's morbid curiosity to be quite so strong. If someone asked him before the event, he'd have put money on Hanzo tracking down whoever dared to write this sort of shit and demonstrating just how wrong they got his characterization.

He rubs Hanzo's shoulders lightly, smiling. It's been months and Hanzo is still full of surprises.

"I got another one for you, if you want," says Lúcio. "One where you're a werewolf."

"Werewolf," McCree repeats flatly.

Mei makes a sound of distress, picks up a pillow, hugs it and hides her face in it.

"Ooh, totally read this one," snickers Genji. "You're a werewolf and there's some pretty, uh, selective turning going on. Apparently you become a wolf dick-first?"

"Oh, hell no." McCree pushes away from Hanzo's chair, gives the box of donuts a last considering glance and realizes that for some mysterious reason he's lost appetite for sweets. "I'm outta here. I don't have the stomach for this stuff."

Hanzo's so engrossed in reading that he barely acknowledges him leaving. McCree goes to the observatory roof, half-amused, half-shocked and maybe just a tiny bit offended, leans against the railing, lights up and basks in the setting sun, attemptting to purge the thoughts of chocolate in inappropriate places out of his head.

* * *

When he emerges from the shower before turning in for the night, Hanzo's sitting on the side of the bed, thoughtfully turning a small bundle of yellow fabric in his hands.

McCree walks over and kisses the top of his head before dropping onto the bed and leaning against the pillows. "What's that?" he asks, curious. Hanzo twitches a little, as if startled out of deep thought, and turns towards him with a strange little smile.

"A silk ribbon. I used to tie up my hair with it, sometimes, back when I still wore it long. It's pure silk, hand woven. A Shimada family heirloom. Extremely valuable."

McCree reaches out to carefully touch the fabric with a finger. It's soft and smooth. "Nice. You plannin' to grow out your hair again?"

Hanzo unwinds the ribbon; it's beautiful, shimmering, delicately patterned in shapes of clouds. McCree withdraws his hand, not wanting to damage the fabric through the contact with his rough skin, but Hanzo reaches out and catches it by the wrist, gentle but decisive. McCree raises his eyebrows in a silent question.

"I've been — wondering," Hanzo says haltingly, still holding his wrist, playing with the end of the ribbon with the other hand. "The ridiculousness and inappropriate use of chocolate aside… how would you feel about —" He stops, huffs, turns further towards McCree and loops the ribbon loosely around his wrist. "About a little… experiment?"

McCree watches goosebumps pop up on the skin of his forearm, stunned speechless.

"No chocolate involved," Hanzo continues, looking down at where the rich yellow fabric contrasts against McCree's tanned, hairy skin. "No food at all involved, in fact. Just this little bit of restraint. Silk is a very strong fabric, did you know?"

McCree swallows with some difficulty. "You said the ribbon is a family heirloom."

Hanzo looks up, eyes dark with intensity that McCree can't help but shiver at. " _Exactly_ ," he says. "I'm looking forward to seeing if I can make you rip it to pieces."

* * *

McCree doesn't rip the ribbon, but not for lack of trying. He does rip the pillowcase, though. With his teeth.

Hanzo orders a silk blindfold online the first thing in the morning.


	13. Undercover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from [bloomingcnidarians](https://bloomingcnidarians.tumblr.com/) for the [Contrarian Fluff Meme](https://mataglap.tumblr.com/post/173746668236/contrarian-fluff-meme): "McHanzo undercover with no contact for months"
> 
> Rating: T

For the first two weeks, Hanzo doesn't think of McCree.

There is no time; too much is at stake. The initial impression he makes on Akande and his cronies means everything for the success of the plan, and Hanzo can allow himself no distractions. Stepping back into the shoes of a yakuza lord is easy — old habits die hard — but he has to do much more than that, he has to pull off a convincing enough act to gain Talon's complete trust in the relatively short timeframe assigned for the mission.

Hanzo sits in their meetings in an immaculate, expensive suit, boredly examining his nails and offering sarcastic comments. He's rusty at this particular brand of criminal diplomacy, but it all comes back to him faster than expected, and he carefully balances between annoying the Talon honchos with ruthless honesty and flattering them with 'accidental' compliments.

Akande in particular seems to fall for it hook, line and sinker. It's easy, almost too easy, but despite, or maybe _because_ of the deceptive ease of getting accepted into Talon ranks, Hanzo can't afford to relax. None of the Talon bosses are stupid, so naturally he assumes he's being watched 24/7 — there's no way they aren't tapping into all his communications and monitoring where he goes — and so, when he finally allows himself to think of Jesse, back in his expensive Italian apartment, turning in for the night, he doesn't even let out the sigh that builds up in his chest.

There's no point wondering when they'll see each other again; Hanzo has to hope it won't be anytime soon, because 'soon' would mean failure, and he cannot fail, not at something as important as this. He does wonder what Jesse is doing, though. If he's thrown himself into a whirlwind of activity to forget, just like Hanzo, or if he's brooding somewhere in a dark corner of the Watchpoint. He won't try to contact Hanzo, that much is certain. Out of everyone in Overwatch, him and Morrison are the ones that have the most riding on the success of Hanzo's mission, and Jesse McCree is a professional. He won’t spoil it in the name of their unexpected romance.

Hanzo carefully and quietly sighs into the pillow, and falls asleep thinking of the curve of Jesse's signature grin.

* * *

Three weeks in, his cover is still intact.

He notices the billboard while driving to the office. The sign is a uniform red, and says nothing but ' _Hey sweetheart_ ' in big, yellow, blocky letters that span the entire width of the board. Another stupid advertising campaign; Hanzo huffs disdainfully and concentrates back on the road, but it still takes him a good five minutes to stop imagining that phrase uttered in Jesse's rich voice.

The billboard stays for a whole week. Hanzo glances at it every day on his way to Talon HQ, but the campaign, whatever it is, doesn't progress. There are no additions to the sign. Gradually, he loses interest — although he still thinks briefly of Jesse every time he sees it.

Exactly a week after the first appearance, the billboard changes.

' _I miss you_ ,' it says now, in the same huge yellow letters on red background and still without any context.

 _I miss you too_ , Hanzo thinks, smiling wryly. Maybe the campaign is better than he initially judged. It certainly captured his interest — although his current situation makes him particularly sensitive to this kind of —

He doesn't lose control of the wheel when the suspicion hits, because he's not an amateur, but he does briefly lose his breath.

Could it be—? He wouldn't. Would he?

It would be expensive and ridiculous and stupid to the point of brilliance…

…Just like something Jesse McCree would do.

Hanzo fights off the nonsensical urge to take the nearest exit and go back just to re-read the sign. It's probably not Jesse. It's an advertising campaign for some useless item that is in no way related to the contents of the billboard. Most likely a vacuum cleaner, or another car, or a fucking fabric softener — and he's falling for it because he misses Jesse, he doesn't let himself think about it but he does, with all the horrible intensity of a fresh relationship cruelly interrupted.

He completely loses focus during the first meeting of the day, and has to discipline himself harshly when he realizes that Akande had to repeat a question twice.

* * *

A week later, he nearly causes an accident because the red billboard is rimmed with a distinctive gold pattern that he recognizes from one of Jesse's serapes, and the message is ' _Never thought I could love like this_ '.

He pulls over at the first gas station on the way and tries to control his breathing, forehead resting on the arms crossed on the steering wheel. He's not sure whether the uncontrollable spasms of his ribs are from laughter or crying, or both.

That idiot. Incorrigible, creative, beloved idiot. It's still an unnecessary risk he shouldn't have taken. Someone in Talon could recognize that pattern, Reaper could report to the HQ and end up driving past the sign —

And the worst thing is, Hanzo doesn't even have a way to respond. Not without significantly endangering the mission. Of course he already has a few ideas, but all of them would require successfully escaping Talon's monitoring without alerting them to the fact. He could do it; he's a ninja. He could sneak out of the apartment at night and spray something on the billboard, for instance. A simple tag or just a heart — Jesse would know —

He could do it, and it would irresponsibly put the mission at peril. No. Jesse will surely know he's seen it, anyway. Maybe he's already watched Hanzo driving past.

Stubborn, reckless, impossible man.

Hanzo's cheeks hurt from smiling, and he finally understands what his chest is repeatedly constricting with: it's joy. The same overwhelming joy he shook with when Jesse pulled him into a kiss for the first time.

It takes him another five minutes to get himself together enough that he can keep his face straight and control the shakes, but by the time he gets to the office, he's fully composed again. He welcomes his Talon colleagues with a smirk that's slightly meaner than usual, and half an hour into the first meeting, heavily interspersed with Hanzo's ruthless and accurate commentary, Akande finally asks what's gotten into him.

"I'm feeling productive today," Hanzo replies, twirling a pen in his fingers. "Meanwhile you, as usual, talk too much and act too little. Stop deliberating and _do something_."

"Thank you for your valuable input," Maximilien mutters from the other side of the unnecessarily large table, dry as a desert and heavy with scorn.

Hanzo gives him a lazy, impertinent smile. "You asked for it. Repeatedly. Listen to me, and this organization might actually achieve something this decade."

Akande clears his throat and distracts Maximilien with a question, but Hanzo can see he's impressed. This is the only way to gain Akande's respect: through shows of force. Today's show went well, which means Hanzo's ever so slightly closer to the goal.

He coasts through the rest of day and then the whole week, fueled by the memory of the red billboard and Jesse's smile.

* * *

The next week's billboard is back to yellow on red, without the patterned border. ' _You're amazing_ ', it says.

 _I know_ , Hanzo thinks, smiling, and he slows just a little as he drives past.


	14. Under a tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was not so much a prompt as a request for something fluffy by [SaltCore](https://saltytothecore.tumblr.com/). I got inspired by the sound of leaves rustling in the wind, and wrote a quick thing.
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Tags: Tooth-rotting fluff

McCree can't remember when he last had the opportunity to just lie under a tree, listen to the leaves rustling in the breeze and watch the clouds sail majestically across the bright blue sky.

Maybe never. There's been plenty of sunny skies in his youth, but clouds rarely made an appearance, and never quite like those, small and fluffy and obscuring the sun just long enough to give a little relief — and the sun wasn't friendly either, burning and merciless and ready to drain you dry if you didn't pay attention. This sun is warm and friendly, and its touch feels like a caress rather than the heavy, unrelenting pressure he's used to.

Next to him, Hanzo shifts in the grass. McCree turns his head to look. There's a ladybug determinedly marching down Hanzo's arm, a speck of bright red in the middle of the grey expanse of his tattoo. Hanzo raises his hand, turns it palm up; the ladybug hesitates, backs off, ventures sideways across his wrist instead.

McCree shifts the thin stalk of grass he's been chewing to the corner of his mouth. "Watch out. These buggers can bite," he comments.

Hanzo hums in acknowledgement. "Surely not unprovoked?" he asks, slowly rotating his hand to match the ladybug's pace.

McCree scoffs; he got bitten once, and he's got no sympathy for the aggressive little fuckers. "Yeah, well, bugs ain't great thinkers. Might decide you smell bad, or somethin'."

Hanzo chuckles, turns his hand palm down. The ladybug walks across it, reaches the tip of his index finger and hesitates for a moment before opening its wings.

Hanzo watches it fly off. McCree watches Hanzo's face.

Moments like this, he's almost sure there's something between them that's more than just friendship.

He clears his throat and looks away from Hanzo's calm profile, back to the tree's wide canopy and the clouds. "We're gonna get all sorts of crawlies all over us if we keep lyin' in the grass like this," he says.

"A small price to be paid," Hanzo replies quietly.

Hanzo's voice changed so much during their acquaintance. Almost as much as Hanzo himself. His tone right now could almost be described as soft; pretty much the opposite of the hostile, clipped barks he used to exclusively communicate with. McCree knows he shouldn't, but he's helpless to resist; he turns his head again, to check if there's a smile on Hanzo's face, too. There is. Just a small upturn of the corner of his mouth, but it's a smile.

The sun has moved enough that the shade they're in is becoming increasingly dappled; one of the bright spots dances on the edge of Hanzo's jaw.

God _damn_ , but McCree wants to kiss him now.

He's resisted the temptation so many times now that it's almost second nature to tamp it down — except Hanzo is smiling softly and watching the clouds, and the tiny patch of sunlight dances across his cheek, all the way to his mouth, as if daring: _do it, stop being a chicken and do it, it's more than just friendship, you both know it's more, just make the goddamn move._

The decision feels like jumping out of a plane. McCree's done it a few times, and the moment of the leap never got any easier; no matter how thoroughly the parachute had been tested, you never really know _for sure_ if it's gonna open.

He spits out the grass. "How many knives do you have on your person right now?" he asks.

These sudden butterflies in his stomach are nothing new, either. He's almost done it in the past on at least two occasions; almost decided, almost asked, even opened his mouth, and each time he backed off from the edge like a coward. This is the farthest he's gotten, and the world hasn't ended yet. The rustling of the leaves soothes his nerves: _it's fine, it's gonna be alright, he likes you, you know he does._

There's a moment of surprised silence. "None," Hanzo says finally. Sounds like he turned his head to look at McCree. "I came here to relax, not fight. May I ask what prompted this question?"

_Do it. Just jump. Everyone does it and they're fine._

McCree takes a deep breath and scoots a bit towards Hanzo, turns to his side, supports himself on one elbow. "Because," he says, and it's a miracle that his voice comes out as composed and smooth as it does, "I don't wanna get killed for this."

He leans in, over Hanzo's surprised face. Gives it a beat, then two, ample time for Hanzo to react, protest, push him away. Hanzo doesn't smile anymore, but he doesn't do anything either, just watches, motionless and wide-eyed.

 _Please kiss me back_ , McCree thinks, slowly leaning all the way in. _Please, for the love of god, please kiss me back_.

Under his mouth, Hanzo's lips part slightly, soft and slack with surprise — there's a small exhale — and then they move, just a little but with clear intent. He's kissing back, _fuck yes he's kissing back_ , and McCree's just about to drown in the overwhelming wash of relief and joy when it's rudely interrupted by a sudden hand in his hair, forcibly pulling him away.

He doesn't panic only because Hanzo is very clearly fighting a smile.

"If you think I can't kill you unarmed, you're grossly underestimating my abilities," Hanzo says. He's aiming for threatening, but the smile widens as he talks, completely ruining the effort.

McCree chuckles and tests the hold a little, because there are _things_ happening in his chest now that he needs to somehow channel before he starts laughing, or bursts into tears, or does something equally humiliating. "Got it. My life's in grave danger right now. Can we go back to kissin'?"

Hanzo grins up at him. The fingers in his hair relax, slide down to his neck. "Only if you're ready to die."

"For you? Been ready for a while," says McCree, not even caring it's fucking cheesy because it's true.

This time it's Hanzo who pulls him down and turns towards him with his whole body, not only willing but eager, and all talking and thinking is postponed indefinitely, and McCree thinks that even if he died now, it would be worth it — just like each time after the jump and before opening the parachute, caught in the exhilaration of the freefall.

"You're my parachute," he mutters against Hanzo's lips when they break apart to breathe, nearly delirious with all the feelings churning in his chest.

Hanzo asks if he's got sunstroke, deadpan, and gets bitten by an ant immediately after. McCree calls it an act of karmic justice and laughs half-hysterically until Hanzo rolls them over and shuts him up for good.


	15. Accidentally Witnessed Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from [madramaut](https://madramaut.tumblr.com/)/[nickutried](https://nickutried.tumblr.com/): "Accidentally witnessed kiss"
> 
> Rating: T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little scene set in the [Binary](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1069576) 'verse, but you don't need to know the series before reading.

Genji wonders, sometimes, if Hanzo can ever truly become part of Overwatch.

 _Give him time_ , Zenyatta told him. _Let him find his own balance. Interference will only disrupt the process_. Genji knows better than to question Zenyatta's wisdom, having learned from his own experience and from watching the experiences of others, but there are moments when he wants to gnaw on his fingers out of sheer frustration at watching his brother struggle. Hanzo is used to holding all the power and, by extension, all responsibility, and it becomes apparent very quickly that getting him to drop the absolutist mindset and learn the value of teamwork is going to take time and patience. A _lot_ of time and patience.

So Genji gives Hanzo time and bites his tongue, and occasionally apologizes to others in his stead, and whenever the urge to explain to Hanzo what exactly he's doing wrong gets too much, he goes to the cliffs and meditates until he's yet again ready to watch his brother blunder his way through interpersonal relations that are not those of a ruler and his subjects.

* * *

Genji doesn't know what is going on between his brother and McCree, and he's not sure whether he wants to know. He's certain they aren't together, at least, and pretty sure they aren't friends either, but there is definitely _something_ happening whenever they're in the same space at the same time, and since he knows his brother's preferences and McCree has never made a secret of his, there's a chance that — yeah, no. _Hic sunt dracones._

He doesn't think twice before bowing out of the mission in Barcelona. Hanzo is more than capable of stealth and he can be subtle when the situation calls for it, and McCree has become even more of a chameleon than he used to be in the old days. They will manage. Regardless of whatever it is that's happening between them, they appear to be on friendly terms at least, and out of all current members of Overwatch, McCree with his capital-A attitude is best equipped to keep Hanzo in check.

He's forced to reevaluate the assumption when they come back. Both his brother and McCree returned in one piece, but, the fiasco of the mission aside, something has gone very wrong during those few days. Their budding friendship, if that's what it was, is gone now, replaced by the studious neutrality of people who would avoid each other if they weren't stuck together for the foreseeable future. Genji can only hope that Hanzo didn't manage to burn yet another bridge; McCree is not a bad man, but he's not someone Genji would want as an enemy.

He considers asking Hanzo about it for approximately twenty seconds before sighing and forcibly turning his mind to other matters.

* * *

There's a spot high up the face of the cliff the Watchpoint cuts into, a narrow perch accessible only to birds and ninjas, where Genji sometimes goes to meditate when Zenyatta is occupied and can't join him. It offers an unparalleled view of both the Watchpoint and the sea, and ensures that he can't be interrupted or found unless he chooses to reveal himself.

He scales the wall two days after Hanzo's return from Spain. He's not in a particularly meditative mood, but he's getting too tempted to corner his brother and ask questions, because Hanzo has been unbearable ever since he came back, snapping at people and sliding back into the old habit of barking orders. Zenyatta, unflappably serene, remains convinced that Genji should let his socially handicapped brother chew through whatever bothers him on his own, but Genji can't help but worry. Hanzo might have developed enough self-awareness to avoid others when he's in a bad mood, but the Watchpoint is small. It's only a matter of time before someone runs out of patience.

A movement down below captures his attention. McCree walks out of the staircase leading to the roof of the observatory, hands in his pockets and a cigar already between his teeth. If the perch is Genji's favorite spot, then the terrace on top of the observatory is McCree's; he shows up there often, usually around sunset, leaning against the railing, smoking and looking out to the Alboran Sea. His own version of meditation, although he would undoubtedly laugh if Genji made that comparison in his presence.

It would be a shame if whatever happened in Barcelona made Hanzo and McCree drift apart. Genji had been hoping that they'd eventually find a common language; neither of them is cut out for loneliness and they both could use a friend, and they're both similarly, well… _difficult_ is one word to describe it, and each of them should be able to handle the other's bullshit where a normal person would have long given up.

Genji sighs soundlessly and turns his mind back towards meditation, and he's almost managed to quieten his restless mind when movement below disrupts his concentration again.

This time it's Hanzo. He emerges from the staircase slowly, not quite sneaking, but with the careful deliberation of someone trying to avoid notice. Judging by McCree's lack of reaction, he's succeeded so far. For a long while he just stands there, motionless, fifteen or so meters behind McCree and staring at his back, and then he takes a step forward, hesitates, takes another. McCree stiffens, body language suddenly screaming tension.

It's all very dramatic, and Genji would laugh if he wasn't holding his breath —

— and then the breath escapes, and his jaw drops, because Hanzo finally makes up his mind, walks up to McCree, wraps both arms around his torso, slowly and carefully like he's expecting backlash, and rests his forehead against the back of McCree's neck.

Genji has _never_ seen him do anything like this. Never. Not even when they were kids, not since their mother died. Someone must have replaced his brother with a clone, or a pod person, or maybe Genji's actually asleep and dreaming, because Hanzo does not hesitate, doesn't ever make himself vulnerable like this, and definitely does not _hug_ people.

McCree doesn't react, still turned towards the sea and holding on to the railing. They stand there like statues, not moving, not talking, and Genji surprises himself with a weird surge of protectiveness: all of a sudden he's ready to fight McCree if he dares to do anything other than returning that display of affection, because that right there is an actual miracle. It needs to be encouraged and cherished. If McCree ruins it, Hanzo might never trust anyone again.

 _Move your ass, McCree,_ he thinks fiercely. _I will cut you if you don't do something._

Finally, after a long, torturous minute, McCree moves, pushes away from the railing, turns and pulls Hanzo into a silent, tight embrace, and Genji slumps with relief so much he nearly loses his balance. They must have gotten together in Barcelona, then, and probably butted heads, stubborn assholes that they both are. The thought of his brother and his friend _together_ is weird and somewhat uncomfortable, but it's probably good for them both. Almost definitely good. McCree's headstrong enough not to let Hanzo thoughtlessly stomp all over him, and Hanzo is more than capable of handling McCree's bullshit —

He closes his eyes with a wince, not quite mortified but getting there, because, as it turns out, years of teasing Hanzo about his complete lack of love life did not prepare him for actually seeing his brother stick his tongue down someone's throat. He gives it a minute and opens his eyes just to squeeze them closed again, cursing internally, because they're still going at it, and now that he's witnessed McCree groping his brother's ass, he's not only mortified, he's in need of an eye bleach. And a memory wipe. And possibly counseling. And then he starts repeating the first mantra he can think of, to make sure his brain has no time to process the realization of why, exactly, Hanzo and McCree stayed in Barcelona for two days more than was required.

After about five more minutes, during which he completely fails to even attempt meditation, he cracks one eye open, steeling himself, but there are no more traumatizing sights. They're gone. Genji studiously does _not_ think about where they went, and since further attempts at meditation are doomed to fail in the face of this momentous discovery, he leans against the rock wall, smiles stupidly to himself and starts composing an appropriately threatening shovel talk instead.


	16. Confession in the kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from [soya-bun](http://soya-bun.tumblr.com/): Confession of feelings in the kitchen
> 
> Rating: M

Propositioning McCree is refreshingly easy. The thinly disguised appreciative looks make it clear he's interested. They've already worked a few assignments together and Hanzo thinks he's got a good handle on what kind of man McCree is, and he's sure McCree's got an equally clear idea about Hanzo — and for once, Hanzo doesn't have to lie: McCree knows _exactly_ who he is and what he's done. They rarely meet for more than a few days a month, perpetually in and out of the makeshift HQ on jobs that send them all over the world. Perfect circumstances for a mutually enjoyable agreement.

McCree is also not the type of person who requires a subtle approach. All it takes is one invitation for drinks while they're both at the HQ and one straightforward question, and McCree doesn't even bat an eyelid at the proposal. He hums thoughtfully instead, swivels on the barstool towards Hanzo and gives him a thorough once-over with a crooked smile, as if he hasn't copped enough looks over the last couple of months. Hanzo replies with a smile of his own and waits. McCree agrees, just as expected.

They meet for a dinner, something that McCree requests and Hanzo doesn't see a reason to argue against, and as they wait for the food, McCree lists all the things he's not up for in their arrangement. Hanzo is moderately surprised and impressed — he did not expect this level of foresight from someone displaying a devil-may-care attitude as much as McCree does — and replies with his own conditions. After that, the conversation flows smoothly. Hanzo is even surprised to find that for once, the dinner doesn't feel like a necessary obstacle before getting to the main event.

They fuck in a hotel room Hanzo rented, on safely neutral ground. It's good. Hanzo has been aware for a while that McCree's warm drawl and easy smiles make him appear deceptively soft, has seen him fight and kill enough people to know otherwise, and he's curious to see which of his faces he wears in bed. He's not disappointed to find out that McCree adapts in bed as well as he does in the field. Several hours later they part ways on friendly terms, both parties sated and satisfied, and more mellow than he's been in a while, Hanzo congratulates himself on the excellent idea.

What he does not expect is the coffee.

They meet in the kitchen at breakfast the next day. McCree brews coffee as he usually does, and Hanzo busies himself with the food instead, waiting for his turn. An unspoken tradition lets McCree have the first coffee since he's the one to make the pot; Hanzo is fine with waiting until after breakfast.

He does not expect a steaming mug to be suddenly placed next to his plate after he sits down to eat.

"Sugar?" McCree asks, casual like he does nothing but serve people coffee in the morning. Hanzo's surprised enough that he just says "no thanks." McCree nods and ambles off without a word to eat his own breakfast at the other end of the table.

Hanzo has no idea what that was supposed to be. He's excellent at compartmentalizing, the memory of the last evening has already been locked away until needed, but the surprise and confusion shake the walls just a bit, enough for a flush of treacherous warmth to run across his skin. McCree doesn't do anything more out of the ordinary, though, and the coffee is good and hot. Hanzo packs the warmth back where it belongs and elects to treat the situation as another one of McCree's occasional outbursts of old-fashioned courtesy.

* * *

It's been three weeks since they slept together, and the newest assignment has them paired again. They're the best field agents Overwatch has, without question, and now that the organization is well on the way to becoming official again, Hanzo realizes they're probably going to be working together a lot more than they used to. All the better that their agreement worked out perfectly well.

Hanzo flies in from Japan. McCree is already in the States and driving, and according to the latest update he's supposed to arrive late. Hanzo checks in, thoroughly scans the hotel room for surveillance, eyes the two beds and surprises himself with a flash of hope that McCree might be interested in another night together.

He scolds himself for the thought immediately: they're on a job. There will be time to think of sex after they're done with it.

McCree arrives shortly after nine P.M, welcomes Hanzo with a 'howdy' and a smile, drops his luggage on the floor and tosses something in Hanzo's direction before disappearing into the bathroom.

Hanzo automatically catches the small package. It's warm and wrapped in tinfoil. "What is this?"

"A burrito," McCree calls from the bathroom. "Grabbed some on the way. Figured you'd be hungry."

Hanzo could, in fact, stand to eat something, now that he thinks of it, but the randomness of the gesture throws him off. McCree has never brought him food before. Not unasked for, at least, not out of the blue like this. It makes Hanzo think of the coffee in the morning after, and that, of course, makes his thoughts circle back to sex.

At least he has the self-discipline to get his mind back on track. He unwraps one end of the burrito carefully and sniffs it: it smells divine, and immediately makes him realize that his last meal was a bland sandwich he was served on the flight.

"I'll eat it if you don't wanna," McCree says, walking out of the bathroom with his shirt over his shoulder. Hanzo realizes he's beginning to smile in response to the teasing lilt in McCree's voice, and the smile is entirely too fond, so he turns away, theatrically shielding his burrito. It earns him a low chuckle.

McCree doesn't put a fresh shirt on. Hanzo devours the burrito — delicious — and wonders if he, too, thought about a possible repeat of their arrangement. The sight of him shirtless, stretched out on the bed and scrolling lazily through a holopad, certainly doesn't help chase away the unprofessional thoughts.

After Hanzo gets rid of the burrito wrapper and washes his hands, he glances at McCree in passing and stops. McCree's put the tablet away and is just lounging on the bed now, leaning against the pillows, arms crossed behind his head, naked torso on display like he's doing it on purpose.

"So." McCree makes eye contact and smiles crookedly. "You wanna…?"

Hanzo opens his mouth to sternly list all the reasons why they shouldn't — but the sight is… stimulating, to say the least, and there's that glint in McCree's eye that he remembers _very_ fondly, and the real mission doesn't start until tomorrow anyway, and that's how he discovers his self-discipline is much weaker than he thought.

* * *

It keeps happening. Whenever they meet in passing at the HQ, whenever they end up on the same assignment, they inevitably land in bed, and McCree keeps being weirdly nice to Hanzo. Never makes a big deal out of it. Acts like it's the most natural thing in the world. And Hanzo is at a loss as to whether it's because of the occasional sleeping together, or just a thing McCree does for people he considers friends.

It's always little things, too, never quite significant enough to warrant asking _why_. The closest Hanzo gets to asking is after McCree comes back from Lijang and hands him a little packet of tea. "Thought I remembered you sayin' you liked this one?", he says; Hanzo does like Bi Luo Chun, but doesn't remember ever talking about it, he's almost sure he never discussed tea with McCree, but before he can gather his wits enough to ask, McCree excuses himself with the need to debrief and disappears into Winston's lab for hours.

After which, of course, he sends Hanzo a text asking whether he wants to meet, and Hanzo, of course, accepts. When they finally fall into bed, tea is the last thing on his mind.

* * *

Hanzo used to prefer working alone: no reliance on others, no having to account for someone else's mistakes. That was so long ago it feels like another life entirely, because now at some point he realizes that he hates not having McCree at his back. Not just that he prefers to have company, not even that he wants this particular company, but that working without McCree feels _wrong_ now. Inefficient. Unsafe. He doesn't know what to do with this realization; it's not as if he can just go to Winston and request that they get partnered together, not when they're already spread so thin. If it's even something that McCree would want.

Late in the night, after another long, tiresome stakeout, he stares at his comm. He thinks McCree might like the idea of working as a duo, but he's also aware that his motivation is not entirely professional. Now that they're attuned to each other, the sex is not just good, it's great, and something Hanzo has undeniably started to look forward to.

Then again, they're both professionals, and separating work from pleasure has not been a problem so far.

He types out the message before he can talk himself out of it. Nothing special, just a complaint about the tedium of surveillance missions. The comm pings with a reply near immediately: turns out McCree's just as bored on his own assignment. About two dozen messages later, Hanzo finally falls asleep.

* * *

Inevitably, a day comes when lack of a partner does become a problem, enough to warrant an emergency extraction and land Hanzo in the medbay with a badly broken leg. It was mostly Hanzo's own fault, and as painful as it is, it's not a huge deal — or at least so he thinks, until Mercy demands that despite the biotic treatment he stays immobilized in the medbay for three whole days.

"Even nanotechnology has its limits," she says sharply after the second time he tries to argue for an earlier release. "Are you prepared to risk a significant loss of mobility in your knee just because you can't sit still for a few days?"

Hanzo has no retort to that.

He sleeps through most of the first day, partially jetlagged, partially knocked out with painkillers. The second day is a torture of boredom, and he's glumly browsing a bookstore for something remotely interesting to read when there's a knock on the door.

"Hey," says McCree, ducking his head in. "Can I come in?"

"No, I'm too busy," Hanzo deadpans. McCree doesn't laugh as he normally would, doesn't even smile. It's so uncharacteristic that Hanzo puts the tablet down and frowns. "Is something wrong?"

McCree closes the door behind himself and looks at Hanzo as if he's grown two heads. "Nothin' at all," he drawls. "Except for a friend who forgot he doesn't have wings."

Hanzo scoffs. "I didn't have many options after being thrown out of the window."

"How 'bout not gettin' thrown out of the window in the first place?" McCree suggests, finally smiling a little and walking closer. Hanzo doesn't grace him with an answer, but he does twitch in an attempt to scoot to the side of his medbay bed, and promptly freezes. What was _that_?

McCree stops at some distance from the bed, smiling his usual crooked smile, and only now Hanzo notices the small white box he's carrying. "You like carrot cake? 'Cause I know you like cake in general but wasn't sure about the carrots."

"I do," Hanzo says weakly. There's a realization that feels rather momentous hovering on the edges of his awareness and he doesn't feel capable of having it now, in front of McCree, while still somewhat woozy from pain medication and ridiculous amounts of sleep.

McCree beams, walks over to the bed and hands him a white cardboard box and a plastic fork. Upon inspection, the box turns out to contain an enormous slice of thickly iced carrot cake. Hanzo's mouth waters at the burst of aroma.

"I know how it feels to be stuck in the medbay with Mercy yellin' at you if you so much as look at the door," says McCree, taking a step back. "So. Enjoy."

Hanzo wants to ask him to stay. Wants him to come closer and sit next to him. He's _missed_ him. The rational part of his mind whispers it's the painkillers speaking; Hanzo pays it no mind. "Thank you," he says instead. It sounds weirdly stiff even to his own ears.

"Get some rest," says McCree, turning with a clear intent to leave.

"Wait."

McCree freezes comically mid-step.

"Come here."

McCree turns back to face Hanzo and eyes him with a smile that's half fond and half suspicious, but obediently walks over to the bed. Hanzo reaches up, pulls him down by the lapels of his shirt and kisses him.

They've never kissed before outside strictly sexual circumstances. It was always during the act, sometimes as a prelude, but never like this. McCree makes soft a noise of surprise but reciprocates without hesitation, supporting himself with one hand on the bedframe and cupping Hanzo's jaw with the other, and something inside Hanzo finally gives.

"What's that for?" McCree asks when they part, eyebrows raised and smile so warm that Hanzo flushes hot all over, momentarily dumbstruck.

"Guess," he replies.

"Hell, if I knew you liked carrot cake _that_ much, I'd have gotten you the whole thing." 

Hanzo wants to say it's not about the cake anymore, but chickens out at the last moment. "I appreciate both the thought and the cake," he says instead. "Thank you."

"Always a pleasure," McCree replies quietly. His hand lingers on Hanzo's face for a few seconds before he straightens back up. "Now really get some rest. Winston's waitin' for the report, I gotta go before I get a lecture 'bout priorities."

Hanzo strongly suspects it's an excuse, but he, too, needs a quiet moment to think.

He looks at the box of cake in his hands and huffs. This was never supposed to happen. 

* * *

The next day, Mercy finally lets him walk around the HQ, provided that he wears a brace, moves slowly and absolutely avoids putting undue strain on the leg. Driving is out of the question; Hanzo orders an autocab, folds himself into it with some difficulty and goes shopping.

What he's looking for isn't hard to find. Standing in front of a patisserie display, eyeing the rows of colorful cakes and pastries, Hanzo allows himself a moment to contemplate the idea that brought him here. It's a little poetic and a whole lot absurd, but frankly the entire situation is somewhat absurd, and it was McCree who started it all anyway, so he'll have no leg to stand on if he tries to bring it up. Hanzo doubts he will. After yesterday, he's about ninety-percent sure the gesture will be appreciated. As for the remaining ten percent — well. He's endured much worse things than a little heartbreak.

He hobbles inside. He only really needs one heart-shaped red velvet cupcake, but at the last moment he changes his mind and buys two. Just to have a backup in case he accidentally drops or damages the first one. It has to be perfect.

Stalking McCree around the place is not an option, not when his leg is already sending out warning pangs of what is not quite pain _yet_. Hanzo decides to seek Athena's help — it's refreshing to have someone agree to a moderately strange request without asking questions — and true to her word, she informs him as soon as McCree appears in the kitchen without anyone else present. Hanzo picks up the prettier of the cupcakes, realizes way too late that he has nothing to carry it in, prays briefly to anyone who might listen that he encounters nobody else on the way, and limps in the direction of the kitchen, determined and more than a little self-conscious.

He hides the cupcake behind his back as he enters. McCree's sat at one of the tables, reading a holopad and blowing at a steaming mug. "Howdy," he says, looking up with a smile that immediately reassures Hanzo that his decision is sound. "Athena said I should wait for you. What's up?"

Hanzo winces internally: that's _not_ what he had in mind when he asked Athena to stall if McCree tried to leave before he got there.

"And are you supposed to be runnin' around with that leg?"

"Not you too," Hanzo groans.

McCree chuckles, puts the mug down and leans back in his chair. "Better get back to the medbay before Mercy finds you, or she'll stick a catheter in you just to make sure you can't move."

Trust McCree to bring up catheters when he's about to make grand romantic gestures. Hanzo gives him a flat glare that hopefully conveys his lack of appreciation for the joke and hobbles towards him as menacingly as he can, succeeding enough for McCree's smile to falter and his eyes widen in alarm. 

He shoves the mug to the side and puts the cupcake squarely in front of McCree. The plan was to simply wait for the reaction, but while half of him marvels at the ridiculous sappiness of the gesture, the other half has regressed to late teenage years and is dying from fearful anticipation, and he discovers that he has to limp over to the counter and at least pretend to do something else.

McCree lets out a single, thoughtful 'huh'. Hanzo freezes with his hand halfway towards the tea tin.

"Wanna share that with me?" McCree finally says in low, soft voice.

The relief is enough to make Hanzo grateful he's wearing a leg brace. "Yes," he says, turning around just in time to see McCree stand up abruptly and shove the chair out of the way.

They don't get to actually eating the cupcake for a while, but Hanzo doesn't mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/matawrites) if you feel so inclined. :)


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